As the Sun
by dandeliondreams
Summary: AU. For a hundred years, the Fire Nation has harried its enemy across lives, deaths, and nations. In the chaos, the Avatar Spirit takes a terrible risk. Being born as the Spirit of the World can't change who you are, but maybe things will work out for the Balance ... Avatar Azula.
1. Lies

.

.

in a strange, strange world

_(the spirits take what they can get)_

.

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_Kuzon stumbles forwards, almost inarticulate with emotion._

"_Aang! Get out__—_get out_—_you have to go_—_run! Get the children!"

"_Wait, what's going on?_"

_He starts to speak, but his wide, wide eyes turn to something in the sky behind his friend's head. An unearthly glow taints his ashen face a deep, blood red._

.

.

"They had no armies."

The tutor's papery voice trails off. His nails scrape loudly against the grain of the map as he lowers his hand. He clears his throat and looks at his precocious student. A long second whispers by.

"Pardon me?"

The child's voice is at once hesitant and confident, assured of the truth and yet unwilling to speak out against an elder.

"I said—"

"_Pardon me,_" the tutor repeats firmly, and the discussion is closed. The lecture continues, but the rasping words are as meaningless as leaves in the wind. All Azula can hear is the boy in her head, insisting:

_We had no armies._

.

.

She doesn't tell anyone about them, the ones who speak to her at night, with voices like clear, echoing bells and eyes like starlight. Then they'll know she's crazy, and even as a child, Azula knows what's best for her.

She stops hurting the servants when the ragged peasant threatens to hurt _her_.

She stops lying_—_to herself, at least_—_when the blind woman only stares, and waits.

She lets Ursa hug her once in a while, since it makes the yellow boy cry.

_I have a mother who loves me,_ she taunts.

.

.

_When they come to take her, Hama drives them beneath the waves, feeling only icy hatred as she senses the way their thrashing bodies make peace with the death-cold water. The eerie blue light fades from her eyes and mouth as the monsters sink to their graves._

_She doesn't expect the arrow that whistles over an impossible distance from the invaders' ship, or the arrows that follow, each one piercing her heart with pinpoint accuracy, one after the other._

_A boy stands translucent beside her and weeps, not shivering in the cold of the South Pole, despite the thinness of his yellow robe._

.

.

Azula likes the ragged one best. They laugh at the same things, sometimes, until the woman realizes it and purses her lips disapprovingly. At least when the peasant's around, she can feed the turtle ducks without worrying about harsh, empty stares or high-pitched whining.

She _remembers_ plains of ice, as cold and harsh as her heart. She turned the waves against young penguin-seals, laughing as they tried to reach the shore. Mother didn't understand.

_(we're kindred spirits, you and I)_

Azula casts stones almost casually into the pond, sensing rapt attention in the ragged woman's silence as they watch the stupid animals mill about in confusion.

When the princess finally hits the littlest one, Hama lets out a short, involuntary bark of laughter.

The grins on their faces are identical.

.

.

_You're lying,_ Azula thinks, but knows better than to speak out again, not after Father heard about last time and—

Well. It was only to be expected. Disrespect was to be punished.

"In the present-day colonies, Commander Cho's forces faced minimal resistance from the final stand of the Blind Avatar. His victory was celebrated by grateful locals who desired the prosperity offered by civilization…"

But she knows, she _knows, _with every fiber of her heart, _that bastard Cho infiltrated my ranks, curse his black heart and those bloodless lying traitors, I should have known, should have felt their pulses, why couldn't I—_

When she closes her eyes, she can feel the steel slide into her back as a thousand heartbeats turn to despair.

The tutor continues to pour untruths into her ears, and she hides a grimace behind a too-perfect smile.

_One day, I will be Fire Lord, and no one will lie to me ever again._

.

.

Ozai really can't care less about the selection of antique toys the ex-crown prince presents to Azula. Nor, for that matter, can she: the girl sets all but four alight, much to Iroh's concern.

.

.

It is night, and Azula is more than three-thirds asleep.

"_Stop right there, Dragon of the West,_" the old woman says, her worn green clothes entirely at odds with the Fire Nation opulence around her. Her feet rest firmly on the ground. "_I know what you're here for, and you're not touching her._"

A long time ago, they stood like this, on opposite sides of an endless war.

A long time ago, but not long enough.

He stops and lifts his hands wearily. He seems to have aged immensely in the past year, as if every departed family member has left their mark etched into his brow. Lu Ten, Azulon, Ursa, and now… "You would stop me from doing my duty?"

"_You would stop me from doing mine?_"

"Honorable Avatar, your duty is to the world_—_to the Balance. She cannot be trusted."

"_You'd be surprised. Get out, before I make you._"

The ground judders threateningly, but Iroh holds his ground, stubborn as an earthbender.

"Perhaps some tea, for old times' sake?" In one hand, he holds a Pai Sho tile between two fingers. Moonlight glints off the stylized lotus, and he prays that this Avatar, at least, is old enough to recognize it. "I think we may have much to discuss."

A moment flickers by. A smirk grows on the Avatar's face.

"_You know I'm blind, don't you?_"

.

.

For absolutely no reason, the blind one orders her to master Pai Sho with such uncompromising ferocity that Azula agrees almost without hesitation. Mother used to play, but she's—

—not here, so Azula finds herself across the board from the pathetic Loser of the West, looking forward to an easy game.

Her tea steams away unnoticed at her side as she lays down each tile in complete silence, internally prickling at Iroh's rambling stories and constant tea breaks, until the game is over.

The game is over.

She stares at the array in silence.

Iroh takes one last sip of tea and sighs with satisfaction. He places his dry cup lightly on the floor beside him. The teapot is precisely empty, as if he knew exactly how long the match would last.

Azula burns.

There is not a trace of humor in her uncle's face when he says, "You need work. You lack negative _jing_."

Something sharp glints at her from his golden eyes, like Father's, and she meets his challenge with an equally deadly smile.

.

.

_Firebending comes from the breath, _Iroh says. So she holds the thought in one hand, and _breathes_.

She doesn't yet realize what she's done, of course, only congratulates herself for stepping beyond her limits yet again – from orange to blue to this blindingly-white blaze that far surpasses anything her illustrious grandfather had ever dreamt of.

A true prodigy.

Zuko will be jealous, and Father will be proud, and Mother…

The white fire leaps and twirls like Ty Lee, reaching up as if to consume the clouds… or perhaps to join them, floating upon the wind. Azula considers the whirling inferno and imagines a laughing, gray-eyed child playing. Dancing.

… Mother would have smiled.

"_She'll always love you, no matter what,_" the blind woman says, uncharacteristically kind. Her voice is distant. "_Mothers always do._"

Azula almost argues, but facing the implacable blank gaze of a woman almost immune to lies, she finds herself murmuring, "… Yeah, they do."

.

.

Father's been distant ever since she showed him the white fire.

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.

She watches Zuko scream, half-smiling, secure in the knowledge that _Father loves me best._

Afterwards, she sneaks into the infirmary, haunted by a memory_ (she is a boy younger than this but not by much, and his skin is burning, burning, and then he is gone)._ She tries to drip water into her brother's mouth, but he spits it out, his unbandaged eye rolling madly in its socket.

He's still upset about the time she tried to smother him in his sleep.

Azula ignores his incoherent mumbles and uses the water to wash the tears and sweat and ashes from his face. "Stop crying, baby," she orders, and is nonplussed when he refuses to obey. His soft mewling noises and sniffles bother her, even as she stands by his head for long minutes, fascinated by his pain.

She pretends to waterbend like Hama for a moment, holding her cold hands over the bandage, lightly, and wishes Mother was here. Zuzu leans into her touch and stops crying, so she leaves her hands there for a while.

Later, when they take the bandage off, she feels strangely disappointed when his face is disfigured by a mottled, pale pink scar. She wishes her idle thoughts could have done something.

.

.

Sometimes she wakes up, shaking, memories of fire and screaming and dying rolling about in her head, and when she stumbles out of bed, hands of starlight catch her arm and help her stand.

"_Remember,_" they tell her quietly, without apology or blame. She sees the proud emblem of the Fire Nation, and feels alien stirrings of hate directed against it, her country, her _father_.

She becomes angry, then, but the yellow boy tells her to breathe, wearing a stupid, stupid smile.

So she does, pouring fire from her mouth, setting the palace ablaze. The peasant cackles as the white flames wrap around walls and eat tapestries, like vengeful spirits coasting on an intensely hot wind. Azula imagines the superheated air rising, rising, and a pillar of swirling fire bursts through the ceiling, blooming over the palace.

Somewhere in the deeps of her mind, Azula says it is a memorial flame for unknown names and faces, people she does not care about, or people she once loved with a frightening passion; she can no longer tell the difference.

In the morning she faces her father with a completely straight face and tells him she was dreaming of conquering the Earth Kingdom.

_(I am a four hundred foot tall purple platypus bear with pink horns and silver wings)_

Of course he believes her. No one lies to the Fire Lord.

.

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The teacup in her hand bursts into a cloud of steam and the ashy remains of leaves. In a low, deadly voice, she hisses, "I'm _what?_"

.

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	2. Family

_._

_._

_(family)_

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.

She avoids him for weeks. It's as easy as avoiding the infirmary, because he won't leave Zuko's side, until now.

Iroh looks old.

Azula shakes off the thought before it can bother her. "What are you doing here?" she snaps. "Why aren't you with Zuko?" She spits her brother's name onto the floor.

"He woke up this morning ... My brother demanded an audience with him immediately."

Azula knows her uncle well enough to expect good news when he says _my brother_ in that slow, disappointed voice, but she quiets her sudden excitement. Father wouldn't hurt Zuko. It would be dishonorable to strike a wounded opponent.

A bit more briskly than necessary, she says, "Out with it."

"Zuko has been exiled from the Fire Nation. I will accompany him."

Exile is a hard word to voice, and Iroh's face sags. Azula doesn't blink.

_I am crown princess of the Fire Nation,_ she thinks, feeling her stomach swoop. If it means Zuko and Iroh have to leave, so be it. People like them don't belong here.

Mother didn't, either.

All of a sudden she feels exhausted. She turns away, and is about to close the door in his face, but Iroh sweeps into her room, determined to speak.

"The price of his honor_—_and his throne_—_is the capture of the Avatar."

She can't help the sharp laughter that breaks from her mouth. It turns shrill in moments, and she doesn't care about the frown lines deepening on Iroh's brow. "So you're here for me? As if _Zuzu_ could keep the throne that _belongs to me!_" Every muscle in her body tenses, ready to lunge.

"No!"

He seems genuinely upset by her words, as she knew he would. But she can't have predicted this_—_

"We will be gone by sunrise. Before our ship leaves, you will learn to redirect lightning. You _must_."

The crackle of blue in his hands is a cold promise.

.

.

Azula usually can't stand her washed-up uncle's explanations, but the starlight spirits listen with rapt attention. They are impressed, she realizes. His words resonate deep inside of her.

Push, pull, tide, whirl. Above her, the moon drifts across the sky, and without looking she knows exactly where it hangs.

Below her, the sink of the earth waits, black and hungry. In the smooth marble of her floor, she feels the rifts that will guide the fire down, down, into the welcoming arms of the earth.

The leaping spark is barely enough to burn hair, but she knows only a master could control the uncontrollable like this. She takes the lightning without a word, utterly perfect in form, and channels it through herself and into the floor, harmlessly dissipated.

Except it doesn't happen that way, and the recoil hurls her into the far wall.

_I thought you were a prodigy, Azula_, Iroh doesn't say.

She only stands and motions him to try again, with a terrible smile on her face.

.

.

The ship is already halfway into the bay by the time she drags herself out of bed.

"Even Mother took the time to say goodbye to me," she says to the window.

The predawn shadows wrap around her as she pulls the covers around her and shakes the scent of lightning out of her hair.

On an impulse, she breathes deep and fires a streamer of white fire up and out into the dark sky. It leaves a smoky question mark hanging over the Palace long after the flames eat themselves away.

If there's a reply, she doesn't see it. The sun creeps over the horizon and sets the water alight.

Softly, Azula says, "Just me and Father now."

.

.

Azula hates the courtesans who drift through the halls like poison, draped in silk stiff enough to conceal a thousand knives. Their eyes dance with self-satisfaction, proud of their victories in meaningless Court intrigues.

(Not Mai, though. Never Mai, who pierces their veils, who never wanted to play at their games. Mai, who is as blunt and honest as a badgermole.)

Father has been humoring them more and more recently.

The one with eyes like a viper's approaches the throne to request favors for her family_—_petty appointments and substanceless titles_—_in a low, silky voice utterly inappropriate to happenings at Court.

Mother's voice was beautiful. She can't remember it very well any more, but she knows it was a lullaby, as warm as the sun, a loving whisper on a fateful night.

The Fire Lord allows the corner of his mouth to smile. She edges nearer, not _quite_ outside the borders etiquette allows. The golden serpent coiled in her hair glints in the light, and even behind the curtain, Azula can smell the sickly perfume.

Azula hates her.

She's glad Zuko's not here to see this.

.

.

Azula is perfect.

She must be perfect.

_The world needs her to be perfect._

Azula moves her arms in an elegant, whirling gesture, and a pure white flame leaps towards the clouds. She holds it there for long moments, watching it twine sinuously around itself, and finding the hazy focus she needs to keep the flame as fine as a white silk ribbon. Too much intensity streaks it blue; too little, and it dissipates into unsubtle yellow. She tilts her head and watches it dance.

It is beautiful.

"It is weak," Father says from behind her, and her calm splinters. The dancing tendrils flare into orange rags. Immediately, Azula curses, honing her concentration again, and the fire simmers blue.

"My apologies, Father, but I thought_—_"

"You must be without contamination," he continues, pressing a long-nailed hand into her shoulder. He stands in her blind spot. The small of her back tingles, remembering knives.

"Father_—_"

"A fire that burns white has too much air."

Not a muscle moves in her expression, but she knows he felt the jolt that passed through her spine, the way his fingers tense painfully into the flesh of her arm. His words brush by the back of her neck as he steps closer.

"You need to be perfect."

_I **am** perfect._

"I will work harder, Father."

.

.

In the practice yard, her face is closed, and her fire lances out bright blue, searingly hot. Li and Lo begin to run out of criticism. Father never smiles at her, but she knows he approves.

In her room, with the door locked and the window cracked just enough for a breeze, she lights her meditation candles and _breathes_. They come to life like three small white doves, fluttering in the faint wind.

As she closes her eyes, Azula smiles without a trace of bitterness.

In the stillness, a shy voice drifts towards her, soft as the mountain echo, and bearing the scent of frost on the breeze.

_... Hi,_ he says.

He looks like the sort of person who dies young, Azula thinks, looking at the wide eyes that are somehow immensely sad and happy at once.

_There are no more masters to teach you_, he says in a twelve-year-old voice she can't help but hate, being twelve herself. _You need to go to the source. The sky bison__—_

"I'm not leaving," she says firmly. "Father needs me here."

He looks puzzled and tries to protest, but she tunes her mind to a perfectly still place, and he vanishes like mist. The candles burn blue for a long time.

.

.

The sky won't stop calling her name.

Ty Lee doesn't question her when she scales the wall of the Fire Academy for Girls and starts to run over the moonlit tiles. They leap from roof to roof, light as birds, dancing in illusory freedom. The acrobat giggles and starts turning cartwheels.

Azula doesn't smile, exactly, but something softens in the angles of her face, and she pulls her long hair free from its customary bun so she can feel the hand of the wind whip through it.

She looks just like her mother.

.

.

If she closes her eyes, she might be able to hear the scream of yin and yang being separated.

She doesn't dare, of course, because it would be death to take her eyes off the actinic lightning leaping over her fingers and scorching blisters into her skin where just she can't quite hold it off.

With a shout, she hurls the stinging energy away from herself. The courtyard is illuminated for a stark blue instant, and a deafening crack of thunder shakes the walls.

Azula pants and clutches her singed arms. She muffles a whimper.

"You lack control," Father says from the corner. "Until you learn to seize power, you will never have it."

"I understand."

"Again."

She shuts off everything. She quietly folds away the pain clawing up her wrists, the call of the wind, the way Zuko screamed, the not-memory of being burned alive under the comet-bright sky. There is only the bone-deep cold and the splitting, screaming chi.

.

.

The Palace is so empty without Zuko and Iroh (_and Mother_). She fends off the loneliness with endless katas and exercises_—_but at the end of the day, she still needs to walk to her room.

There's something malevolent about the way the shadows gather in the corners of the halls when she walks by herself, so more and more she walks with her eyes closed.

Most often it's the blind woman who walks alongside her, casting a faint pearly light over the darkness. Azula never says she's grateful, but the calmness in her heartbeat is obvious.

By the time she reaches Zuko's room, Azula is alone again.

It doesn't look like the servants have come by in weeks, the same way they've avoided Mother's room for years. The closet hangs open, clothes vomited onto the floor, as if he'd gone through it in a panic, or had just been sloppy. His table has been literally swept clean, as if by an arm knocking everything into a bag.

"Idiot," she says, and jumps at the sound of her own voice breaking the silence. The quiet crowds back around her in moments. She's never felt too small before, but the gaping emptiness leers at her until she backtreads softly and locks the door behind her.

Mother's room is more welcoming, still full of clothing and hints of her presence. It doesn't look like she took anything with her_—_even the proud golden flame lies on the side table, forgotten, or discarded. Azula walks past it without touching it, as she always does.

Azula takes a precious bottle of perfume and touches it to the sheets, so the pillows will still smell like her, even after two years. She crawls under the covers and breathes.

.

.

Again and again, Azula sends cold fire into the wall in the practice courtyard. She does not flinch from the arcing chains wreathing her hands. They do not burn her.

Not a single hair out of place.

Father doesn't comment on her technique anymore, so she must be perfect, at last. She'll always need to improve her stamina, but there's only so much a thirteen-year-old can do.

Azula's almost ready to declare herself a Firebending master when she finds one of the few uncensored military reports in storage. _Jeong Jeong the Deserter could fly._

There are no other details, but they aren't necessary_—_she knows what to do, as if she's done it all her life_—_why she didn't think of it the moment she felt the kickback of a burst of flame, she'll never know_—_

The sky-longing hits her stronger than ever, and she can hardly control herself as she climbs to the Palace roof. From here, she can see almost the entire Capital. The wind swirls around her like a tamed beast.

The height makes her giddy, but she's not afraid. She's lived in lofty Air Temples her whole life; she's danced through the air on nothing but a red kite. She's a prodigy, and Jeong Jeong the Deserter is a _nobody_.

She takes a running leap off the tiles, and embraces the sky.

Hot air blooms below her, buoying her up straight into the sun; the fire in her hands presses her higher, higher. She can feel the air raging around her, tearing out her hairpin to clatter to the stones so very far below.

The fires pull at her in four directions with the force of charging komodo rhinos, and it's all she can do to keep from being torn apart. Her arms and legs shake with the effort of holding them steady. The feeling of hanging in midair is worth it.

Getting down is another issue entirely, but she holds off exhaustion with the strength of her will until she's ten meters up. The wind blows more than entirely necessary as she freefalls into the Palace garden.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Father's robes sweep around a corner, and vanish.

.

.

Father says, "My daughter."

He's very proud of her skill, he says. Azula can feel the jitter of his pulse tremble with falsehood.

She was born lucky, says the minister of finance, eyes full of envy. She'll make a powerful Fire Lord, says the minister of war.

Something flickers in Father's heartbeat before he says, "Yes."

Azula smiles all through dinner. Afterward, the shadows swirl in her wake and nip at her ankles as she walks through the halls, every movement tightly controlled until she reaches Mother's room.

"He's afraid of me," she whispers shakily, slamming the door and collapsing against it. She hugs her knees to her chest and tries to quiet the frantic pounding of her heart. "All of them. Everyone is ... afraid of me."

_Good,_ she wants to say, but it chokes in her throat.

"I am a monster," she says to the mirror, hating the way her voice cracks and threatens to crumple. "I_—_am_—_"

_Azula_, says a voice like a lullaby, and it's too much for her. She buries her face in the sheets and doesn't cry. The bed creaks when Mother sits next to her and sighs.

_Be strong_, she says, stroking her hair with a hand of starlight that is somehow too rough to belong to Ursa, but Azula leans into it nonetheless, and shakes with the sobs she will not free.

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	3. Spirits

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.

_(spirits)_

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Azula sits before her meditation candles. They burn agitated orange, flickering with every thought passing through her mind.

It's not fair. Father should be happy that his daughter has such talent. He should be glad that the Fire Nation will be ruled by the greatest Firebender in history.

The Avatar herself, honoring the empire with her favor.

The candles blaze fitfully, then pulse back into rhythm as she takes several calming breaths.

She wants to dull her skill, so Father may have the pleasure of criticizing her; so he may forget her effortless perfection, and quiet his jealousy. Azula tries to convince herself that power is nothing compared to Father's approval, but she's learned his lessons too well.

Father approves of nothing but power.

As with everything, she calmly turns her thoughts over in her head and ignores the way her hands have gone numb. Her pulse refuses to race. Nothing will stop the slow, coiling churn of ambition in her heart.

Mother would have understood.

_(She did terrible, treasonous things that night.)_

The flames turn brilliantly blue.

.

.

Father isn't stupid enough to bar her from war meetings, not when every general eyes her with hunger, remembering the charred battlefields the former crown prince left in his wake. They all know she would exceed the Dragon of the West in every way.

They edge cautiously around the topic of Zuko's mission without mentioning the name of dishonor.

"Surely the Avatar is merely too young to understand his duty to his country? If he's been raised in progressive schools, he could be a valuable addition to the war effort."

"Then you think the search parties' jurisdiction in Fire Nation territory should be suspended immediately?"

"The Avatar cannot be trusted. We must remember that when he betrayed the throne, Roku crippled the beginning of our expansion."

"If he hasn't shown himself by now, we must assume he is our enemy."

"Given the situation in the outer colonies, I wouldn't be surprised if he has been turned against us. The incident in Gansu clearly demonstrates the inadequacy of the patrols."

Azula's expression never flickers.

One of the generals glances towards her and says, "If I may suggest_—_a small team of trained assassins..."

She looks attentively at Father with a calculated expression on her face_—_just the right mixture of self-assurance and respect, layered intentionally thinly with false modesty. The tilt of her head asks permission without words. _Pick me._

"No," says the voice behind the flames.

.

.

In front of her meditation candles, Azula tries to quiet her growing unease. The light of the full moon leaves nothing hidden, so she knows that she's not in danger, but a chorus of voices behind her eyes disagrees.

She lets the candles calm to smooth white, and something bursts in the back of her mind. For a brief moment, her head sings with pain, discordant notes chiming. A woman in ragged blue seizes her shoulder with surprising strength. Hama's eyes are wide with panic and rage.

"_The Moon__—_you must protect her_—_"

"What are you talking about?" Azula says snidely, before the world tilts. The patch of moonlight in her bedroom slowly turns red, like blood in milk, or Kuzon's face on the day of the comet.

Her cheek, she realizes dimly, is pressing into the floor. Hama has vanished into the seething mass of voices in her head, or perhaps the voices have bubbled forth to join her, she can't tell. Images flash past her eyes too quick to follow.

"Stop it," she mumbles, squeezing her eyes shut hard enough to see spots superimposed on the flickering scenes. The voices rises to a blurry roar, striking her with dizziness. Her sense of place twists and lurches until it seems so easy to just slide silently into the floor.

In a blink, she does, and her vision goes black.

.

.

She's lying on her back in the cold grass, feeling frost-dew seep into her silk robes. The sky is the color of the scarlet curtains on the night Mother ran away, or the shadow of her hair under the cloak. By habit she summons a handful of white flame to cast away the dark, only to feel her heart skip a beat when nothing happens.

In moments she's bounded up into a fluid crouch, eyes gauging every potential threat. She can't sense any intent to kill, and the only living creature seems to be a baboon wearing human clothing, encircled by a crevasse of tree roots in an almost meditative posture.

"Om," it intones, and Azula flinches.

She stares at the monkey silently, long enough for her to remember something Iroh had mentioned, once, about Lu Ten.

It repeats its mantra and sneaks a glance at her.

"Spirit," she says, and it pretends not to hear her. A flare lights in her heart.

"Don't think you can ignore me without consequences," she hisses, stepping forward.

It opens its eyes and turns its full attention on her. "Don't think you can threaten me without consequences," it mocks, and there would be something silly about this animal speaking like that to the Princess of the Fire Nation, the Spirit of the World, but ... there's something monstrous in its eyes, or the tilt of its ruffled head_—_something utterly alien to human sentiment, and aware that she is powerless here.

Something like that looks out at her in the mirror every day.

More quietly, she says, "Tell me what's going on."

"You failed, Avatar," it says. "We didn't have high expectations, but_—_"

"You have no right," Azula snaps.

"You let the Moon die."

Her hands curl into fists_—_she wants to scream, "_How was I supposed to know?_" But looking into the spirit's beady black eyes, Azula sees no understanding of space, or time, or a hundred other merely human limitations. It sees only her failure.

The path is simple, then. "I will kill its murderer," she promises calmly. "Tell me where to go."

The baboon looks closely at her face for several moments, and says, "Koh might show you the way." It points idly, and closes its eyes.

"Om," it chants.

.

.

The battle-scarred woman walks beside her, surprisingly solid. Azula can see that her eyes are pale green under the milky cataracts.

"_It's not a trap,_" Avatar Toph says. "_They just forget, sometimes, that you don't know the same things_."

"Face-Stealer," Azula says slowly. The voices in her head are gone, for now, but she still feels a slow, boiling rage against the unfamiliar name. "He_—it_ took something from me."

"_He plays by the rules. That's all there is to it_," she says, before dissolving into ashes, borne away by the wind. Azula stands alone under the mournful sky.

It never occurs to her to dismiss this world as unreal. Azula has seen illusions and heard voices since she was young, and only some of them were truly never there.

Without thinking about it, she stops walking towards the distant horizon. Distance is different here, as in a dream; she knows, somehow, that her steps aren't bringing her any closer. She closes her eyes, summons that feeling of nauseous placelessness, and steps in no particular direction but towards the name Koh.

When the whirlwind stops, Azula steps out onto a plateau, watching a giant raccoon dog pass through the clouds beneath a tortured tree. Without hesitation she walks into the darkness.

"Koh," she commands, feeling eyes on her back.

A whisper of clicking, and a white mask attached to a monstrous body appears before her. "Welcome," it says, in a voice that resonates over her skin.

"It's been a long time since I've added a child's face to my collection ... Avatar."

"I'm not here to chat," she says. "Tell me how to find the one who killed the Moon."

It laughs softly. "No time to talk to an old friend?" it says, drifting nearer. Azula doesn't react while segmented legs brush her robe and linger on her arms. It coils slowly around her, and inspects her face.

"Beautiful, I know," she says, resisting the urge to smirk.

Koh hesitates at something in her eyes. It draws back slightly, but smiles almost approvingly.

"Little girl, it's as much a mask as mine."

.

.

It doesn't take long to reach the arch of the Oasis. She can feel the draw of the real world, somehow, the feeling of water swirling slowly down a drain in the center of the innocuous-looking archway. All she has to do is close her eyes and follow the scent of ice and the sound of inhuman howling.

Gleaming like starlight, Azula steps into the human world. The sky is pitch black, and all color has been leached away by the unnatural twilight. She steps over the bodies of Fire Navy troops to reach the pool where a black koi fish swims frantically back and forth, moaning in a voice like the typhoon.

She meets Iroh's eyes.

"I knew you'd be here," she says. "Who did this?"

The Ocean's voice grows louder_—_it seems to slow its circles and linger near her. _Come_, it whispers, hungry as the sunless ocean floor. _Come to me._

"You've made a promise under the sky of the Spirit World," Iroh says instead. "Be sure to keep it."

_Come, and give me blood._

"I intend to," Azula says, and steps into the water.

The oasis begins to whirl with dark purpose.

.

.

As the moon reemerges in the night sky, the girl-spirit drifts back to herself, feeling nauseous. The feeling of a thousand rotting drowned, the grim fingers of the deep ocean, the mindless hatred unceasing as the tide_—_the filth of the Ocean Spirit without balance leaves a sea-salt stain on her spirit as the waters recede.

She can't remember killing Zhao, or the crew of what appears to be several Revenant-class battleships. For a while she hovers on the barrier wall, a hazy patch of starlight unable to hold form. The tide calls to her.

She struggles to recall her identity long enough for her ghostly form to settle, but by the time the weak artic sun rises, she has remembered.

_(_"_Never forget who you are,_"_ she said, vanishing into the night.)_

"Azula," she says, remembering silk on skin and a comb in her hair. Sunlight. She needs to go home.

It's not the same thing as traveling in the Spirit World, but close enough that she holds her name in her mind like a beacon, and steps.

Her body is heavy. She can hear the trickle of breath through her lungs and the pulsing of her heart. The sinews of her hands stretch as she clenches her fists. Her flesh hangs on her bones. It's inconvenient, but the spark in her blood reminds her she can bend again.

In a flash of awareness, she realizes that she's not in her room, and sits up as the last of the eerie blue light fades from her eyes.

She recognizes the small, dark room, but she's only ever seen it from the outside, looking in through the small window in the door. It is a steel cell_—_a furnace to any firebender foolish enough to try to break out.

"Welcome back, Azula," Father says.

.

.

.

.


	4. Scars

.

.

_(scars)_

.

.

On the first day of his exile, Zuko locks himself in his living quarters and tries not to howl with pent-up rage.

Later, he looks at his task with calmer eyes and tries not to panic.

Everything about the Avatar is an unknown quantity, except his age and heritage. The Earth Kingdom Avatar was killed twelve years ago, and according to their records, the Avatar passes from life to life at almost the moment of death.

The fact that the Avatar is a firebender raises a host of dangers. The home islands are forbidden to him, but any true son of Fire Nation soil would have turned himself in already, so the colonies are the only place worth searching anyway, Zuko tells himself.

As a prince of the Fire Nation, he knows he should take care of his people, but there's a chance that the Avatar won't want to come to the capital. He might resist.

His age is irrelevant. Azula's shown him exactly how dangerous a twelve-year-old can be.

.

.

The colonial governor looks at his scar first.

The beginning of an instinctive smirk is quashed by the sudden presence of the Dragon of the West in his receiving room, though Zuko doesn't realize it until months later. He chalks it up to the glare he levels through mismatched eyes.

He directs them to the census office with strained politeness, where the archivers look at him with the same expression. The shelf of births twelve years ago has already been searched_—_in fact, it has an air of constant use.

"We let the students come here for class projects_—_every year there's an attempt to find the most likely Avatar," they say, hiding smiles, as Zuko grits his teeth and sweeps out of the room without looking back.

.

.

Azula is winning, he thinks with every passing day, patiently building up his store of resentment.

Days pass. He trawls through every scroll he can lay hands on, though he never stoops to thanking Iroh for visiting the palace archives before they left. With resignation, Zuko takes in the legends of the Avatar's exploits_—_Roku's duel with the volcano, Kyoshi's decisive peace, Yangchen's suppression of Water Tribe piracy.

The details are sparse, and rarely focus on the Avatar's childhoods, except to mention useless things like "He was an earthbending master at eleven" and "She was a prodigy." The stories mean nothing to him.

Hundreds of years of the Avatar's lives lie in his hands, but he still can't find him.

.

.

He's sick and tired of scouring the colonies. Of course the firebending schools have already searched their thirteen-year-olds for any sign. Of course the Fire Sages have made countless passes of the respectable families. Every petty colonial official he speaks to takes immense pleasure in informing him of facts he already knows. Every man on his ship looks at him with the same mildly amused expression.

Repetition doesn't make the sting go away.

Everyone knows the Avatar isn't in the colonies. At least, not the civilized ones.

Zuko leaves his troops behind to seek out the ones with reason to hide from the Fire Nation. Uncle worries enough to come with him, and Zuko's secretly glad to have him there as they saddle their armored ostrich-horses and head inland.

The gratitude vanishes the moment Iroh begins to sing.

.

.

Recently-conquered territory is nothing like he expects. This close to the front, it's not worth sending officials to control the area_—_Fire Nation mercenaries and soldiers plunder the countryside at will.

After a year of veiled insults and subtle insubordination has taught him to notice the disdain on people's faces, the peasants' expressions on seeing his uniform is gratifying. The novelty wears off when he realizes it's not respect, it's terror. Nobody will give them the information they need when they look like royalty, as ridiculous as it sounds.

It's harder to let the armor go than he thought, but Zuko steels himself and tries not to imagine Azula's teasing. Iroh looks far more comfortable in the simple brown homespun than royalty should, but Zuko refuses to complain, even when the itchy fabric and relentless Earth Kingdom sun make every movement excruciating.

They look at his scar first, like everyone else, but out here, their faces brim with respect and sympathy. Something shrivels inside his chest.

Zuko almost prefers the people sharp enough to stare longer, taking in the color of his eyes and skin. Under their suspicious gazes, he remembers who he is.

He doesn't feel proud.

.

.

"We're looking for a firebender around thirteen years old," Zuko says in what he thinks is a casual tone, only to hear the entire bar fall silent. Not even Iroh's uncanny friendliness can weasel them out of that situation, and they leave before the villagers decide to turn on them.

.

.

Zuko learns, village after village, that sometimes it's better to listen and wait. After a while, no one pays any attention to a ragged pair of wanderers taking refuge from the sun, not even when shouts ring out and a thin boy stumbles into the light.

The Earth Kingdom soldiers laugh as they cut him off in the middle of the street. No one tries to stop them_—_some even smile with a thin, gleaming look in their faces that reminds him too much of Azula.

"No one wants you around here," the leader sneers, making as if to grab the boy's collar, but he ducks out of the way with a sharp motion and tries to run. The other two soldiers close in and grab his arms, twisting them painfully. He doesn't squirm once he sees he's caught. Something hardens in his golden eyes.

The leader leans in to taunt, "Why don't you beg, little boy? If you squeal loud enough, maybe your daddy'll come back to save your sorry hide!"

The boy looks back with a furious expression. He coughs something like a cloud of smoke and soot into his tormentor's face, then changes his mind and spits.

"You little Fire Nation bastard_—_"

With a single fluid motion, Zuko smashes his scabbard against the backs of one soldier's knees, pivots, and rams the hilt into the other's temple.

Before anyone can blink, he stands face to face with their outraged leader. Behind him, the boy stands cautiously, looking at the soldiers crumpled in the dust on either side of him.

The leader growls, "Don't stick your nose into the army's business, stranger."

"You're just a common thug," Zuko says coldly.

"Please excuse my nephew," Iroh says, finally standing to join Zuko. His tone is rigidly polite. "He simply meant to prevent the injustice of the strong preying on the weak."

Iroh sounds like every disappointed teacher and parent. The soldier bares a snarl as he sees the crowd turn self-consciously against him.

"I better not see you in town anymore," he says, leveling a hammer at the travelers before walking away. The gathered villagers disperse nervously, trying not to look anyone in the eye.

Behind them, the boy is gone.

It's easy enough to track him to the dilapidated hut where he lives. The woman who answers the door has a sleepless look in her face, and wrinkles that speak of long sorrow. Her face pales as she whispers, "What do you want?"

Zuko's blood turns to ice when he sees the livid scar on her cheek, like a red hand print.

.

.

For once, he lets his uncle do the talking.

"So how old are you, son?" Iroh says with fake lightness. The boy glowers silently and lets the words fall like dead leaves.

Iroh glances at his nephew with a strange expression. His words begin, "You know, you aren't the only one_—_"

With an uncharacteristic flash of insight, Zuko knows what he's about to say and turns red. "Don't you dare slander my mother!" he shouts, and storms out of the mud hut before the barely-controlled sparks leaping from his hands can damage any of the peasants' meager possessions. He's intensely aware of the boy's suddenly interested eyes on his back as he leaves.

Later that evening, Iroh says quietly, "He's too young by a year. Let's not impose on their hospitality any longer."

Zuko rises and walks away without another word.

Under the stars, Uncle says, "I am sorry."

.

.

In the scattered villages on the border, there are too many haunted-looking Earth Kingdom mothers, living far away from neighbors who won't look at them on the street. They flinch away from sudden movements, and don't like to look too long at the fire beneath the cook-pot. Their skin is broken by mottled red scars.

Zuko tries to talk to the sullen children who look in his golden eyes and see a monster, or themselves. They hate him almost instinctively.

With a few soft words, though, Uncle manages to coax a bit of bending from them_—_a self-conscious spark or flame. As he watches, Zuko starts to realize that they're ashamed and afraid of their gift, and wonders if this was such a good idea after all.

Too many times, he's ended up protecting his targets from vigilantes trying to wipe every last drop of Fire Nation blood from their soil, to gain nothing but curses for his efforts. More rarely, he catches a strange look in the eyes of their mothers.

Every passing day of searching makes the disgust in his stomach grow stronger. He's almost relieved when Uncle Iroh suggests they take a_—_well, he doesn't quite use the word "break", but a "training retreat" by the ocean sounds perfect. Anything to escape this place, still bearing the scorch marks of war in its soil and its people.

.

.

When his crew rejoins them in a small port city, Zuko realizes suddenly that it wasn't necessary to leave them behind to find the Avatar. He might hide, might even be able to evade a troop of Fire Nation soldiers_—_but in the end, he would never be able to escape his heritage. There would be uncountable villagers all too eager to rid themselves of their dishonor.

All he would need to do is post a bounty for firebenders of a certain age, and the Avatar's family and neighbors would jump at the chance to turn him in, even to their enemies. They would hate and betray him, an exile from his birthplace.

_(In the garden she loved, he tries to demand, "Where is she?" in a shaky voice, but Father doesn't seem to hear.)_

_(He kneels, paralyzed with fear, under the lights and the stares of the entire Court, and looks up into a face without compassion.)_

Zuko doesn't know what bothers him so much about the thought. He keeps it to himself while they train, even though the turmoil makes his flames splutter weakly and disrupts every attempt at meditation.

A couple months shy of the three-year anniversary, Admiral Zhao barges into camp on a komodo rhino. Zuko welcomes the distraction, at least until he snidely informs him that the search for the Avatar is far less important than crippling the Northern Water Tribe, only fit for useless banished children.

Then Zhao steals his crew and tries to assassinate him.

.

.

Zuko lies on the beach, exhausted, trying to take in the sun forever.

No amount of warmth will be enough to drive off the cold, or forget the eyes of the Ocean_—_a feeling like fathoms-deep, crushing, sunless water. He starts to shake every time he remembers how it turned deliberately away to seize Zhao instead. But nothing could be worse than drifting on that same Ocean for weeks, staring at bloated bodies among the remnants of once-proud Fire Nation regalia.

And then, the anniversary. Zuko decides to forget the way the peasants looked at the gold-eyed children, and do whatever it takes to go home and reclaim his rightful place at Father's side. They'll be happier, he thinks, away from family and neighbors who will only betray them.

Besides, he can't let Azula win.

"Your uncle said I'd find you here," says a familiar voice that electrifies him to the core. He sits up abruptly, looking over his shoulder, half-unbelieving.

She's really here.

Mai doesn't try to hide her smile. "Hey."

Zuko stumbles to his feet, suddenly aware of his ragged appearance against the fineness of her robes. "Mai! What are you doing here_—_I haven't seen you in_—__mph!_"

She steps back, blushing, as he touches his lips in bewilderment. "Mai?"

"You're coming back," Mai says, light dancing in her usually hooded eyes. "Your father sent me. He said he regrets what he's done. Apparently the Court's been getting ambitious and family are the only ones he can trust. He wants you home."

"Father ... regrets?" Zuko wonders, touching the skin beneath his eye. A shivery hope passes over him. "He wants me ... back home?"

Mai embraces him, seemingly unaffected by the sand and the salt dirtying her robes. "I want you back," she says, silencing his protests with another kiss.

A guilty weight vanishes from his chest.

.

.

.

.


	5. Traitors

.

.

_(traitors)_

.

.

"In the few minutes we have together before I leave you here for the rest of your life, why don't we discuss your betrayal?" Father says.

Azula lets her pulse calm. This is nothing. She can read every lilt of his voice like a book, even behind the door. She knows him. This deliberate silkiness_—_trying too hard to intimidate_—_trying to cover some essential lack of knowledge he desires. It means she can control him.

Or maybe it's the customary tone he takes with prisoners before interrogation.

But she can't let him frighten her. She cannot grovel, not when she has the option to deceive. Zuko made the best possible mistake under the circumstances, but Azula has far more room to maneuver here, in a conflict of words.

Father has never seen the outcomes of her little altercations with Zuko, and why should he? It was always Mother who watched her manipulations, with dawning comprehension. As far as Father is concerned, Azula is a perfect firebender, and no more.

"Father, whoever's been spreading lies about me can't be trusted," she says, drawing herself up into a more dignified position that still manages to look vulnerable. She pitches her voice a few years younger,and injects as much sincerity as she can. "You know me. I would never betray you."

"Don't lie to me."

Tinged with anger, but she's certain it's false. There's a strain of command in it: request, perhaps, or even question. It's not an outraged rejection, but an opening.

"Never," she says, pulling up the shadow of misplaced loyalty still in her heart. "I have done nothing wrong. Why have you accused me?"

"You've kept your little secret for years, haven't you? I suspected it the moment you demonstrated the white fire_—_or did you think I did not know of Avatar Yangchen's attack on the Water Tribe pirates?"

_(On the back of a sky bison, she whirls her hands overhead, and hurls white fire onto the sails below.)_

Azula shakes the memory away and focuses on the present.

"I gave you a chance to confess. I gave you every opportunity to prove yourself a true daughter of mine. But you held your silence through the war meetings, the practices, the dinners ... You turned your back on me. You _lied_." The air seethes with his displeasure, but perhaps not all of it is directed at her. If she can divert it onto circumstance, onto blind, unfair fate ...

"I never betrayed you," Azula says, fighting to hold her voice still. "I didn't know! I thought I was improving my firebending! Father, please believe me. I didn't ask for this. I have only ever wanted to be your worthy daughter ... to have your approval."

The words slip out without her meaning to. She shivers at the sound of raw truth echoing through the cell, and wilts. "Please," she adds. Father says nothing.

He breaks the silence with a low laugh.

"An admirable performance, truly worthy of my daughter," Father says, in a tone now devoid of exploitable emotion. "Hold your eyes a little less wide, do something about the disdain in your tone, and maybe you'll be able to fool me in a hundred years."

"Father_—_"

"Goodbye, Azula."

The sound of his robes brushing the floor is deafening.

"No!" she shouts, panic rising. She leaps towards the door, decorum forgotten. Too short to see out of the window, she forces her fingers through it instead, reaching blindly out for mercy as her voice rises to a scream.

"You can't leave me like this_—__Father!_"

She hears him pause and turn to face her.

"Yes, I can," Father says.

His footsteps slowly fade until only weeping remains.

.

.

Azula lies motionless on the floor, staring straight up at the ceiling. Three days' worth of food lies ignored by her side.

If she starts to starve, surely Father will come back to coax her to eat again.

Father will come.

Another tray slides through the door slot, jostling the others. She closes her eyes and pretends not to see them.

The second day was the worst, when it was all she could to do to ignore the food directly in front of her as her stomach contorted. By now, though, she's settled into a hazy stupor, hunger pains humming dully in the back of her mind.

If he doesn't come to make her eat, surely he'll come to the funeral. It's only polite.

Anything is better than an ocean death, the kind reflected in the Ocean's heartless eyes: a corpse tossed in slow motion by underwater currents, flesh drooping half-chewed from the bones, eye sockets gazing into the black trenches of the abyss.

As far as dying goes, Azula thinks faintly, starving to death isn't bad. One last triumph of will over body.

Toph snorts. "_Eat, or they'll thread a tube down your throat, and peanuts to your triumph. Triumph is living. It's fighting, and never giving in_." She grips her wrist with surprising gentleness and says, "_Live, idiot_."

Mechanically, Azula reaches for the bread, and eats.

.

.

"He's going to marry that courtesan, isn't he," Azula says when the guard passes her the customary tray. She hasn't moved in weeks, and he knows to nudge the tray close enough for her to reach with one hand. "The one with the long face and seductive little voice and viper eyes. Mother would have hated her, you know."

He doesn't say anything, so she says calmly, "You answer when a princess asks you a question."

Startled into obedience, he says, "I_—_I'm not privy to Court gossip, Your Highness."

"He has to ensure the continuation of the line," Azula says to the ceiling. "Not me. Not Zuko. He'll find a new brood mare."

The guard leaves hastily before he hears anything that might be grounds for executing either of them, but the princess continues her one-sided conversation without him.

"Mother, I've missed you."

"Father's betrayed me, but I guess you knew that would happen, after what he did to you ... What he did to Zuko. I shouldn't have smiled. I know that now."

"The horse_—_he's going to marry the horse, and have a flock of baby ostriches. They won't be as good as me, because she's not as good as you. But that's the point."

"Yes, I've been eating. It's a triumph. A kind of triumph."

"I love you too."

.

.

Zuko shoves her against the wall the moment the soldiers pass by the alleyway. "How _dare_ you!" he whispers furiously. "I trusted you!"

"I'm helping you escape, if you didn't notice," Mai snaps, and pushes him away. "Your father lied to me. I didn't know he was going to arrest you."

He looks like he wants to explode, but can't bring himself to yell at her anymore. "Whatever," he finally says, turning away. "I'm going to find Uncle."

"You'll need help."

"... Go away."

"I don't think so."

"Your family is going to be in danger if you stay."

She rolls her eyes. "You underestimate my family. They know how to take care of themselves_—_they'll cut all ties rather than go down with me. You and I are together. That's all."

Zuko hesitates for a moment, and looks back to her. "You mean it?"

"I don't lie. Not to you."

.

.

Claws clatter down from the ceiling.

"You took her," she gasps, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick carapace. "_I'll kill you_."

Long black hair tumbles from the stolen face as Koh laughs.

"_Let me see your despair,_" it whispers.

.

.

"Typical," sighs Zuko, looking at the emotionless mask.

Mai says nothing, but behind the white wood and bruised eyes, she raises an eyebrow at his choice_—_the face of a leering blue demon, mouth stretched wide by tusks and mischief.

She produces a list of imprisoned bureaucrats from a source she doesn't reveal, cutting their search by a dozen unimportant cells.

The two spirits drift silently through the city, filling the shadows with purpose. The single watchman unlucky enough to catch a glimpse of a white mask in the half-light is immediately pinned to the wall with stilettos and knocked unconscious with a single blow from the hilt of a dao sword.

By silent accord, they search the most lightly-guarded cells first: cages with high-set windows as concessions to the inmates' former positions. The Dragon of the West, traitor or not (_Not_, Zuko says flatly) deserves only the finest, as brother to the Fire Lord.

When they don't find him, they turn to the prisons below the surface with a sense of foreboding_—_sunless labyrinths in dead, stale air designed to stifle firebending.

Zuko douses the torches as they pass, spreading a trail of protective shadow behind them. It's not enough to hide them from the unlucky guard who jumps forward with a shout before they can deal with him. His companions arrive in seconds, eying the masked intruders with a hint of apprehension.

For several silent moments the spirits stand back-to-back, steel in their fingers, before stepping over the unconscious bodies strewn about them.

The cells are solid metal boxes, cut off from air and light, and designed to steam would-be escapees to death. They are unattended, except the one at the far end. The guard doesn't look up in time to see the pale face strike, and crumples to the ground without a sound.

Zuko slides the window open and staggers backwards, whispering a curse.

Mai tilts her head in silent question, but Zuko shakes off his confusion, and seizes the keys with trembling hands. He throws open the door with slightly more force than necessary, holding fire in one hand to cast light into the cramped cell.

"Onishite! Tsure! I thought Koh took your faces ages ago," Azula says, puzzled.

.

.

She refuses to move from the floor, so Zuko sheathes his blades and picks her up, half-expecting her unfocused eyes to turn malevolent. Instead, she wraps her arms around his shoulders and mumbles something incoherent about his face.

His sister seems much lighter than she should be.

There are no deserted districts in the capital, but they make do with the poorest quarter, where servants and laborers live. The innkeeper's silence is easily bought_—_if he recognizes either of the children of the Fire Lord, he makes no indication as he passes them the keys and says something that makes Mai's cheeks burn red. Zuko almost turns, but she kicks his ankles and they keep walking.

They lay her on the bed in their room, still dreamily asking for names from epic poems like long-lost friends, and settle in the opposite corner to whisper.

"What's happened since I've been gone? I thought_—_I thought Father_—_he'd never turn against her."

Mai tilts her head, not a trace of boredom in her eyes. "I don't know. She's been busy practicing. Last we spoke, she wanted to go to war. Nothing beyond the usual ... nothing like disloyalty. Whatever it is, it can't be betrayal."

"Azula always lies," Zuko says, in a tone of long repetition.

"Not to him," says Mai, frowning. "There were rumors that she tried to seize the throne during the lunar eclipse, but everyone knows she's devoted to the Fire Lord. No one took them seriously."

Something rustles.

"The Moon died," Azula says faintly. "So I killed him. Zhao."

It means nothing to Mai, but Zuko jerks violently and rushes to her side in an instant.

"What do you mean, you killed him?"

Her eyes are as golden as ever, but something in them whispers of corpses dancing on endless midnight sands below the waves. "I didn't take _you_, Zuzu," she says, smiling. "But he'll drown forever."

.

.

The rising sun looks on Azula's face for the first time in ages, shaking the shadow of the Ocean from her. The nightmare fades as she slowly moves a hand through the sunbeam, skin crying in relief as it passes into the light.

She hadn't expected anyone but Father to come for her, but her rescuers are here in plain sight, leaning against one another as they sleep in the corner. Azula lets her head turn slowly to the side, watching them through the motes of dust dancing in the morning light. Mai looks uncharacteristically peaceful drowsing on Zuko's shoulder.

Azula tries to imagine why her brother's here, of all places, but the gears of her mind have rusted to slowness. Zuko has gotten a lot taller. She faintly remembers being held like a child, too weak or confused to run on her own. Her pride prickles.

Her unused muscles protest painfully as she tries to sit up.

_I'm so weak_, Azula marvels, falling back onto the bed, feeling tired to the bone. _I let myself decay because Fa__—b_ecause I couldn't_—_because Ozai turned on me and I forgot how to live for myself. I should have known. Never trust anyone.

Not Ozai. Not anyone. To trust is to give power. To intimidate is to take it.

She realizes that Ozai taught her that, and tries to slump deeper into the rickety bed. Things are too complicated. She needs to stand on her own feet for now. That should be simple enough.

Carefully, Azula inches off the bed and stands, using the wall for support. At her first step, the floor creaks, and steel flashes in the sunlight before she can blink.

"... I thought you were sleeping on the job," she says, eyeing Mai's knives and the dual swords suddenly in Zuko's hands. It comes out as more of a croak, hoarse with disuse, and half the words vanish in her throat before she can speak them.

"Azula," Mai says, weapons tucked away, a bowl of water in her hands instead. "Here."

The water is cloudy with clay, cold and mineral and honest. She tries to gulp it, chokes, and finishes it anyways.

She's not sure exactly what to say, and ever since Ozai laughed she's stopped trusting the power of her words, but no one seems to mind. Zuko digs through his pack and warily offers her a military ration of salted meat and biscuit. It tastes like wandering under an endless Earth Kingdom sky, and freedom, and the most delicious thing she's ever eaten.

Zuko forms an orange flame in his hands and offers it to her. "Sometimes it's hard to bend, after being so long in the dark," he says.

She can't look weak. After debating whether it's worse to accept pity, or try and fail to prove herself, Azula grits her teeth and cradles the fire dancing over Zuko's fingers. For a moment, she's barely able to sustain it, but long habit kicks in as she breathes and remembers. It unfurls white in her cupped hands, like a silk ribbon.

Something cracks in Zuko's mind, two hazy memories at last colliding into new knowledge.

"Yangchen's white fire," Zuko says, horrified.

.

.

.

.


	6. Honor

_._

_._

_(honor)_

_._

_._

Azula smiles bitterly. "What are you going to do about it?" she says. "Take me back? I'd rather die."

She makes no move to defend herself or extinguish the curling white flame, instinctively recognizing Zuko's hair-trigger reflexes. Layers are peeling back under the light of the sun, and she's beginning to notice flickers of meaning again: his wide eyes, and the way he looks at her scarecrow rags. Zuko has always been easy to read.

"He was going to leave me there to rot," she snarls, letting a carefully-controlled amount of real anger shine through her composure. Her words have the desired effect. Zuko's eyes widen, and his mouth opens to protest, but she presses her advantage.

"You _know_ he never regrets anything," Azula says, with the force of the truth behind her. She's not sure what makes her keep talking, pulling up the thoughts that mocked her in the dark. "Don't think he'll ever give you the throne. He has his eye on a painted Court horse. You'll see, we'll have a squalling brat soon enough_—_an end to everything. You can ask Mai."

Mai nods slowly, eyes calculating.

Azula clenches a hand with an astonishingly weak grip and spits, "Not you. Not me. Not Mother. We're not welcome here, no matter what he promises. Don't forget what happened to Grandfather."

"Grandfather?" Zuko says, finally finding his voice while taking an unconscious step back.

"Mother was stronger than he could imagine," Azula says softly. As if considering something new, she tilts her head and adds, "He's afraid of us, too."

Too many emotions pass over Zuko's face before he sweeps out of the door, unable to stand his ground. He was never one for words. Azula makes no move to follow him.

"Avatar Azula," Mai considers, in a bored tone that doesn't fool anyone. "Aren't you supposed to be master of all four elements or something?"

"True. Fire won't be enough," Azula says, letting blue flames melt into the white. The shadows give her angled features a calculating lilt.

"For what?"

She lets the silence speak for her.

Unsettled behind her mask of apathy, Mai stands and walks away. "I'm going to find Zuko before he gets caught," she says. "Do whatever you want."

Azula smiles. "I think I will."

.

.

Zuko grips his arms hard and mutters under his breath.

"Azula always lies. Azula always lies."

_Unless the truth hurts more._

He can't shake the image of her lying passively in the dark, sanity unraveling with her robes, inner fire banked to smoldering embers. It couldn't have been an act. Azula could never willingly look so weak.

_If that's what Father does to his favorite, what will he do to you?_ says a voice mockingly like Azula's.

"He already did," he says, fingering the skin below his eye. "Because I was too afraid to fight him."

The voice hisses, _What do you think he would have done if you'd tried to fight?_

Something prickles uncomfortably, but he pushes the thought away. Father would never dishonor the title of Fire Lord by killing his own heir.

"Azula once told me an Agni Kai is the most acceptable way to kill a member of the Royal Family," Mai says, looking more serious than usual as she climbs to the roof beside him. She looks unimpressed by his sudden, horrible flinch.

"... What?" Zuko whispers.

"She's about to do something stupid," she answers.

.

.

Toph folds her arms over her chest, looking grim. "_I think you don't know what you're doing,_" she says.

"I think I do. Now go away," Azula says, trying to pull deeper.

She only stares with gray eyes perfectly suited to expressing stubborn defiance. "_Not until you tell me your plan._"

"You'll be waiting a very long time, then," she says calmly. "In fact, so long that you'll hinder my progress, lowering my chances of survival. You don't want that, do you?"

The Earth Kingdom Avatar gives her an inscrutable look before grinning widely. "_Girl after my own heart,_" she declares. "_Kick his ass for me, will ya?_"

Despite herself, Azula cracks a grin of her own as Toph dissolves into mist. She swallows it before regaining her inner calm and reaching as far as she can_—_

"It's been a long time, Hama. You never did thank me for saving your Moon Spirit."

The waterbender tilts her head, letting her long black hair fall to one side. Without affect, she says, "_You had no hand in saving anyone. Your contribution was death. Princess Yue brought life._"

"I didn't_—_"

"_Thank you. Death is an important thing to bring to certain people_."

Azula's glad they see eye to eye on these matters.

"_You've been getting into plenty of trouble in the meantime_," Hama continues. "_I hope to see another decisive solution soon._"

"I have a plan," Azula says dismissively. "I'm not looking for your help, though."

Hama sneers, but dissipates with the breeze, whispering, "_Typical princess._"

Azula drums her fingers impatiently, but tries to settle herself, thinking of the cold mountain air and the resonating echo of the wind through the peaks. If she focuses hard enough, she can remember the sound of monastery bells. She steps past Toph and Hama to reach_—_

"Aang. There you are," she says sweetly.

.

.

"You should probably be resting," Mai says.

Azula ignores her. The training katas come back to her easily, muscles groggily waking from their slumber. Her skin burns under the eye of the sun, but every hour she spends in the light brings more power into her fire.

She watches for a few moments longer before rolling her eyes. "I'm not your babysitter. Do what you want."

That finally prompts a reaction_—_a dry laugh. "As if you could stop me."

.

.

Ozai meditates in his audience room, surrounded by towering columns and a river of fire that surges with every breath.

"Makes you feel powerful, doesn't it?"

He doesn't jump, to his credit, but Azula smiles when she sees the fire flare up. Letting her voice bounce off the walls, she adds, "All alone, in this room you worked _so_ hard to steal."

"Azula," he says.

"Ozai," she answers, the first time she's spoken his true name aloud.

He makes no move to stand, though the fire murmurs with unease. "It was foolish of you to come."

"I thought we'd just have a little chat. I didn't want there to be any_ hard feelings_ between us, after all." She's never spoken to Ozai like this before, she realizes, relishing every taunting lilt.

"There's nothing to discuss."

"You don't even want to speak to the future Fire Lord?"

His laughter is loud and confident in the echoing room. "Pathetic. You still think you have a chance," Ozai says.

This time she sees the jump of surprise in his brow as she steps around a column and into a bolt of lightning.

_Such speed_, she marvels. The quick crackle of separation is barely enough warning for her to anchor her stance and direct the flow of chi. She seizes the bolt head-on, forces it in, down, up, and out of her outstretched fingers, directly at Ozai's surprised face.

She enjoys the look in his eyes as he realizes he won't move aside in time, as he realizes the truth of his own age. The lightning blasts him out of the throne. Sparks leap over his twitching body, but she knows it's not fatal. His attack had only been meant to stun—a mistake he won't make twice.

"Don't worry, Ozai," she says, stepping forward. The river of fire ripples under two masters for moments, then glows spectacularly white, spreading stark shadows into the audience room. "I'm not going to kill you here. It would be so barbaric. No. I'll just follow in your footsteps."

Azula stops at the edge of the flames, so that he can hear her whisper, "One night, our beloved Fire Lord Ozai will peacefully ... _never ... wake ... up_."

She admires his control as he stands without the slightest sound of pain. Ozai cuts an imposing figure as he towers over her, even with smoke steaming from his robes. "You _dare_ threaten me," he says, in a low, dangerous voice.

"I am my mother's daughter, after all."

"Your mother was weak."

The brief flare of her anger drops down into cold, sharp resolve. With a sharp sweep of her arm, the white flames vanish, casting the room into darkness. "Tell that to Grandfather," Azula says, walking away, with the weight of her threat hanging in the air like smoke.

She lets the words sink in for several seconds.

"I didn't raise you to be a coward," Ozai says silkily. "Let's settle this with an Agni Kai for the throne. Just you and me, daughter."

In the shadows, Azula smiles.

.

.

She even goes as far as to make a formal declaration to the Fire Sages. She lines it up in careful, stilted language, and elegantly signs her name: Azula, Crown Princess of the Fire Nation, accepts a challenge of Agni Kai from her esteemed father, Fire Lord Ozai, as her royal honor demands.

Zuko, of course, was too hot-headed to plan clearly, but Azula knows it's important to keep up appearances. Her careful wording makes it crystal clear who the aggressor is.

Father against daughter, the Fire Lord against his own heir apparent. The entire capital will come to watch this duel.

Azula pretends to flinch when Ozai proposes the official arena, the same one where Zuko lay screaming three years ago. She lets him smirk, unintimidated by the memory of her brother's Agni Kai.

Of course he wants her to think he's trying to scare her, and she wants him to think he's succeeded, but she knows him well enough to understand his real motives. The narrow confines favor his style_—_sheer, overwhelming firepower_—_while limiting the advantage of her agility.

Azula doesn't care. She knows fire, and the way it dances on the wind. Against the greatest firebender in the world, Ozai doesn't stand a chance, especially if he underestimates her—and he will. All she needs to do is take him down quickly and decisively, before the endurance of her fourteen-year-old body can fail her.

.

.

The seating around the arena is crowded beyond capacity. Everyone with a shred of influence has come to watch. Azula smiles. Ozai won't be able to use his more destructive moves without damaging at least half of his war ministers.

The entire arena falls into tense silence as Azula stands and turns to face her father.

Neither of them try to bend lightning. Instead, she immediately sends an array of blue flames, unsurprised when Ozai blocks with a single sweep of his arm. He follows with a wave of fire too large to dodge without falling off the platform. Without flinching, Azula splits it around her in a counter that takes almost all of her strength. Flames crackle dangerously close to her as she pants.

He follows with a series of powerful fire punches, each more difficult to dispel than the last, but Azula moves her hands in elegant circles until the final one bursts into sparks. Her heels hang off the edge of the arena, and she can't help her frustrated frown. She needs to get closer, and strike with all the precision and power she can muster.

"Why don't you surrender like a loyal daughter?" Ozai says softly.

_Like Zuko,_ she doesn't say. Azula only smiles. "Scared?"

"So you've decided your fate. You've miscalculated," Ozai says, utterly secure in his superiority. Too fondly, he picks at an old memory. "You will learn respect, and suffering_—_"

"Don't even try it!" Azula snarls, baring her teeth and loosing white lances of fire, perfectly concentrated into searing heat. They pierce through the fireball Ozai summons and miss his face by inches, or at least appear to.

Blood oozes from a single deep cut through his cheek, only to still as the heat of Azula's attack cauterizes the wound before the spectators notice anything but the sudden livid burn. Ozai doesn't scream, but he clutches his face and stares at her with shock.

"_You_ miscalculated, Ozai," Azula taunts, holding the air like knives in her fingers. With a whip of her arm, she creates a fiercely white arc of fire, enveloped by an invisible wind that forces him to duck when his defensive flames part meekly around her attack.

Azula loves the way the edge of his long black hair is sliced and burned in rapid succession.

"This has gone on long enough," he says harshly, standing. He lets an overwhelming stream of fire pour from his hands, powerful enough to endanger the spectators behind her.

She stands as if paralyzed for a long moment, almost letting the flames singe her before leaping into the air on a plume of white fire, impossibly high, and hurling a barrage of attacks that Ozai dodges. The scything air around her flames gouges wind-cut spirals into the arena floor before the evidence is obliterated by fire blasts.

Azula lands an arm's-length behind Ozai with a wide smile. He doesn't turn fast enough. The explosion of blue fire colliding with his instinctive defense inches from his chest flings him across the arena in a cloud of smoke.

The ringing silence of the crowd is music to her ears.

"Daddy! You don't look so good," she shouts.

.

.

The smoke doesn't even have time to clear before Zuko throws back his hood and leaps over the banister, running to the edge of the raised platform. "Azula, stop! You can't do this!" he yells.

Without looking at him, she says, "Yes, I can. And I don't recall asking you to interfere, Zuzu. Get out of the arena before you invalidate my victory."

"Prince Zuko. You know the conditions of your return," Ozai says slowly, looking not a whit less intimidating for the scorch marks on his skin. He stands to his full height and the light casts stark shadows over his face. "The Avatar has betrayed her country and must be brought to justice. Capture her now, and your honor will be restored."

The crowd ripples with shock, but the battlefield has shifted and she doesn't have time to care what they think, not when there's no proof. Azula ignores them, instead looking at Zuko's wide eyes.

Very casually, she moves her head in a way to make her hair fall from its bun, long and dark over her shoulders. She turns her hands upwards and softens her eyes, drawing on every carefully-treasured memory she can.

Azula has never looked more like her mother than now.

"Zuko. You know better than to trust him," she says, layering serene confidence into her words. She lilts his name just the way Mother did, with the soft voice that sometimes haunts her dreams. "He's already betrayed all of us."

"Your sister is a liar and a traitor. It's time for you to take your rightful place at my side."

"You can't let him control you any more, Zuko."

"Prince Zuko! Do your duty to the Fire Nation!"

The prince looks at them frantically, completely unused to attention from either. Azula quietly touches her left eye, and enjoys the sudden recognition and pain that flashes through his features.

"He doesn't deserve your loyalty," she says.

.

.

Of course he'll side with her. Ozai never cared to look twice at his firstborn son, and no matter how much Zuko adores him, Azula will always know him better.

The roar of Ozai's lightning shatters the silence.

Azula sinks into a defensive stance and stills her chi flow in preparation before she realizes the lightning isn't meant for her. Zuko doesn't scream as the strike buries itself into his chest and sparks outline his body, but only because every muscle is spasming uncontrollably and the breath has been knocked out of his lungs.

She isn't sure what comes over her, but before she can blink, she's reached out and seized Zuko's hand, suppressing a cry at the crackle between their fingers that raises blisters on their skin. Arcs of blue electricity surge over her arm, but she ignores the pain.

Azula visualizes Zuko's chi system and pulls.

_In, down, up, out._

Sparks collect over her fingers. The redirected lightning explodes at Ozai's feet, hurling him entirely out of the arena.

A long moment passes before the presiding Fire Sage remembers to say, in a trembling voice, "Victory to Princess Azula."

.

.

There is no time to gloat about Ozai's tactical mistake, because Zuko's eyes are rolling in their sockets and everything smells of burning skin. Azula drags him onto the raised platform and lays him on his back, or tries, as his limbs don't seem to be under his control any more.

_Not again_, Azula thinks, somehow unable to control her breathing. She presses a hand over his heart to feel the erratic beat, a far deadlier attack than the one three years ago. _I shouldn't have smiled. I know that now._

The royal physician rushes over in a flurry of robes, unpacking his burn salves and bandages.

In a moment of total clarity, Azula sees Hama standing at her side, looking on the medic's efforts with disdainful blue eyes. "_Useless. Don't they know it's internal damage? He'll be dead in a few minutes_."

Something cracks in Azula's mind. She doesn't examine it too closely.

"Heal him," she says instead, seizing the physician's water pack.

The waterbender looks down at her with aggravating slowness. "_Everyone will see, and you'll be disqualified from the line of inheritance. The Avatar cannot be Fire Lord._" Hama offers a knowing smirk and nudges Zuko's twitching body with a toe. "_Is his life worth losing all that you've worked for?_"

Azula almost can't help the response that claws its way up her throat. "Shut up and help, Hama."

A long moment passes.

"_You're not bad for Fire Nation_," the waterbender muses, and touches Azula's forehead. Her eyes warp into glowing blue.

.

.

.

.


	7. Control

.

.

_(control)_

.

.

When the glowing fades, Azula feels the power rush out of her like receding floodwaters. Suddenly light-headed, she sways and collapses almost on top of Zuko, who opens his eyes with a pained groan.

"... Azula ... ?"

"Don't talk," she says, struggling to her feet. "We're not out of this yet."

She looks out over the crowd, and does not flinch away from their measuring stares. Murmurs ripple between them as nobles reevaluate their loyalties. The Imperial Firebenders watch her suspiciously.

"Kill them," Ozai says, low and menacing, brushing soot and dust from his body. "They have betrayed the Fire Nation."

She swallows her impulse to attack as the Royal Procession subtly closes around him in protective formation.

"The only traitor here is you," Azula says with forced calm, glancing at the Imperial Firebenders' expressionless helmets. They make no move to attack her. "I had only the Fire Nation's best interests at heart, but you cared only for your own power. The moment you knew I had the authority to put you in your place, you tried have me silenced."

She whirls to address the soldiers and aristocrats watching and shouts, "Cast off this sad excuse for a Fire Lord! He doesn't deserve your loyalty. I do."

The silence is deafening.

.

.

"What were you thinking?" Mai says, struggling under Zuko's weight as they dodge fireblasts. She turns to fling a handful of knives at their pursuers, and the attacks stop. "Trying a coup here, surrounded by nobles like my parents? People who got their power by looking the other way when Azulon died?"

"They should have _bowed_ to me," Azula hisses, fighting the urge to set fire to the entire street as they run from the capital. She aims precise streams of flame at the firebenders trying to chase them along the roofs. "I'm the _Avatar__—_I'm the most powerful bender in the world_—_I defeated Fa ... Ozai in Agni Kai!"

"You can't betray Dad like that!"

A cruel smile twists her lip. "And I can't believe you're still defending him, after he tried to kill you for the _second_ time."

Zuko twitches and turns away, shivering with nausea.

"An ancient restriction on the throne can't stop me. I can crown myself if the Fire Sages won't," Azula insists between breaths. "If I don't deserve to be Fire Lord, then who does?"

"_I_ do," Zuko says suddenly. He ignores Mai's warning look and stands straighter with an effort. "You only want to be Fire Lord because of Dad! You don't care about the people of the Fire Nation! You don't care about the people of the world!"

"Don't make me regret saving you," Azula says flatly.

Mai elbows him in the side, but he carries on angrily. "You haven't seen_—_you've never been out there_—_they're all waiting for the Avatar to save them from _us!_" He whirls suddenly and hits an approaching guard in the face with an explosion of fire, and for a moment they're too caught up in the fighting to argue.

Something crosses Azula's face before they slip into the shelter of the docks, no longer pursued. She turns to face the others, looking serious.

"Azula ..." Mai says warily.

The tilt of her head is almost playful. "I'll give you the throne, Zuzu."

He frowns at her suspiciously, but Azula's already turned away. She looks over the ocean, to the other nations beyond it. Softly, she says, "If the world wants a savior, who am I to refuse?"

.

.

Azula turns the moment over and over in her head, treading the knife's edge to find why she slipped.

The harsh, isolated arena, emphasizing her small size and lack of supporters. Or perhaps the shock of watching the crown princess overshadowed by a waterbending Avatar Spirit. Or even the fact that she sided with her weakling brother, the exiled prince.

It doesn't matter. After the vicious, searing joy of defeating Ozai in Agni Kai, she's calm enough now to realize that the revolution must be quiet, a thief in the night stealing Ozai's throne out beneath him.

Under cover of darkness, Azula drops down from the roof of Mai's mansion and slips in through a window. If the flawless placement of their daughter into the lives of the Royal Family and their proximity to the Palace are any indication, they're more devious than perhaps even Ozai expects.

She's counting on it.

Hurting him had felt good, but it's time to set the stage for her next move.

.

.

"That can't _possibly_ be Ty Lee, can it?"

"Mai! Azula! Zuko!" she cries brightly, looking at them upside-down. The acrobat untangles herself with a flourish and embraces her friends. "It is so good to see you!"

Zuko twitches and tugs his hood a little lower, looking at the platypus bear handlers suspiciously. "Not so loud!"

Ty Lee blinks innocently. "What's going on?"

Azula seems to grow taller and more confident, but her aura doesn't change. "I have a proposition for you. We're on a mission_—_"

"Tell the truth for once," Mai interrupts. She ignores the princess's furious glare and says flatly, "We're not on a mission, we're on the run. The Fire Lord's gone mad and needs to be stopped."

"I'm biding my time and gathering support!" Azula snaps, fooling no one. She presses her fingertips into her temples before looking up again. "Ty Lee, I would be honored if you would join me on my mission to reclaim the Fire Nation."

"I_—_I'm sorry," she says, "but the truth is, I'm really happy here. My aura has never been pinker!"

For a few moments, Azula seems almost at a loss for words. Ty Lee's stumbling honesty has never failed to disorient her, but she recovers gracefully. "Well ... I wouldn't want you to give up the life you love just to please me."

Ty Lee smiles and offers a bow. "Thank you, Azula."

"We'll catch your show before we go."

Her performance is stunning, although they don't try particularly hard to enjoy it. Zuko practically sulks while not offering an equally-bored Mai his fire flakes. The circus is too loud and colorful and, well, _Ty Lee_ for any of them.

Azula's nails leave deep gouges in the bench. She wishes fiercely for power enough to _make_ Ty Lee come with them, instead of being forced to hide like fugitives.

They're on their way out when she comes running behind them, shouting, "Guys! Wait for me!" Her makeup has been smudged hurriedly away.

"I thought you wanted to stay," Azula says, forgetting to hide her surprise.

"I was just thinking that your auras would need brightening up!" Ty Lee says, smiling wide. "You're all so dingy and gray, you'd end up unbalanced without me!"

Azula stares for a long time, trying to read Ty Lee's open hidden face for the real reason she's here, but her round gray eyes reveal nothing.

"... Let's go," she finally says.

.

.

"I'm going to be the Avatar," Azula says. Toph snickers.

"_You already are. But it's nice to see you embracing your destiny instead of chasing after your father._"

Azula doesn't seem to hear the suspicion in her tone. "I'll need to master the other bending styles."

"_The combination of all four elements in one person is what makes the Avatar so powerful. I could've been unstoppable,_" Toph sighs wistfully.

"You only ever mastered earth?"

"_Wasn't like there was any way for me to learn fire or air during the war,_" she says with a shrug. "_I met a waterbending master once, but it just didn't click. Like trying to convince the seasons to turn from spring to winter._" Toph smiles almost bitterly.

"I have no choice but to learn air," Azula says, drifting into thought. "Aang mentioned sky bison."

"_You might find some in the Air Temples,_" she says. "_They say the shadows of the past can be felt by the present._"

.

.

The Southern Air Temple is cradled by viciously familiar mountains, but Azula doesn't say anything as they climb, not even when she sees the gouges in the cliffs where Sozin's primitive war machines were hurled away, to shatter to pieces on the rocks below.

The carnage inside is terrifying and inspiring in equal measure. Ty Lee takes one look and refuses to go any further than the door.

Azula tries to read katas from the way the dusty armor lies. She can see the circular motions that drove disciplined rows of elite firebenders into disarray. The airbender didn't move far from the center of the room, though, from the way the inches-deep grooves in the stone radiate outward, accompanied by Fire Nation skeletons that look like they've been sliced cleanly in half.

Azula's curious enough to step onto the bowed, shattered tiles, into the circle baked completely black by concentrated fire.

.

.

_When they cut off his escape route, he dances in and out of their ranks, dodging plumes of fire and throwing soldiers into each other._

_An elder make a scything gesture he's never seen before, and yells, _"_Now is not the time for nonviolence, Aang!_"_ as a troop of soldiers falls with echoing finality, sliced to pieces._

_But more come, as unrelenting as the blazing comet itself. He's tired and afraid and angry. Everyone will die in screaming blood and smoke if he doesn't do something._

_Kuzon shouts something at the expressionless masks, tears streaming down the ash on his face as he hurls fire back at the desecrators, but he's too young to fight elite soldiers. Flames catch him in the chest with deadly accuracy. He turns helpless eyes to Aang so he can see the luster fade from the gold__—_

_Something unspeakably powerful seizes his body. He sees his own hand, tattoos glowing, airbending a metal war machine into the opposite mountain, to shatter to pieces on the rocks below. In its wake, soldiers fall apart like cut paper, metal armor useless against the divine wind._

_But more come._

.

.

Azula gasps and finds her hands shaking. She stumbles away from the charred tiles, feeling icy cold that has nothing to do with the altitude. There aren't even bones left of him, just a scorch mark and a rising taste of bile in her throat.

"Good job," she finally says to the sad-looking boy in yellow floating by the edge of the room, carefully avoiding the scattered skeletons. "I didn't think you had it in you."

Mai shoots her a glance that could be concern, but Azula shakes her head and lets her turn the same look on Zuko, who stands in the chamber with a white-knuckled grip on his swords and emotions in full bloom over his face.

It is unspeakably hard to stand here as both murderer and murdered. Azula wonders if she's forgotten who she is, if she can't feel pride or guilt for Sozin's sake. Perhaps she's not a true descendant of Sozin after all, because all she can feel now is clawing, crawling despair.

The world is broken if this is what it means to be Fire Nation.

_(she is a boy younger than this but not by much, and his skin is burning, burning, and then he is gone)_

.

.

The Fire Nation stopped hunting the Air Nomads after the first genocidal attack killed their Avatar. No airbenders were seen since, but Azula finds herself traitorously wishing they'd all been wiped out when she senses killing intent. She instinctively throws herself aside, narrowly dodging a wave of compressed wind that could have crushed her windpipe.

"Murderers! Defilers!" shouts a hoarse voice.

Their attackers look more like ragged bandits than the monks of the history books, but she's always known history to be packed full of lies. Any airbender strong enough to survive the purges couldn't have been too enamored by peaceful, spiritual life. "Stand down!" she shouts, sounding every inch a princess. "How dare you attack your Avatar!"

She airbends like she firebends, with sharp, explosive movements, but there's no doubt that she can use both elements as she lets them leap into the sky.

Their leader, an old man with flinty eyes, shakes off his look of surprise with a grin that shows too many teeth. "Yeah, right! Even if it's not a trick, we'll just kill you, and the Avatar Spirit will come to a nation more worthy than _yours_, firebending scum."

Zuko almost lunges, but Azula raises a hand to stop him, casting cool eyes over the rest of the band, who look less certain. "Kelzang, let's at least hear what they have to say," says the woman at his elbow, though the war fans in her hands stand ready to attack.

The right words come easily to Azula's mouth if she doesn't try to believe their content. She angles for enough moral outrage to make up for her lack of authority and subtly slight her attackers.

"If you think you can create balance by killing me, you've learned _nothing_ from what happened here a hundred years ago. The pain and suffering needs to end. We're going to end the war, whether you like it or not, and bring a new era of peace and kindness."

While his companions look convinced, Kelzang sneers. "We don't care about the war_—_the Earth Kingdom's exploited Air Nomad refugees for a century. If it weren't for us they'd desecrate the temples. They'll get what's coming to them, and so will the Fire Nation."

Azula thinks Aang would be embarrassed by these supposed Air Nomads_—_no more than bandits, bitterly clinging to the blood-soaked past without remembering their ancestors' ways.

Behind her, Zuko says in disgust, "This is your world, too," and for a moment the airbender looks chastened. Then Zuko vomits and collapses, entirely ruining the moment.

.

.

Azula doesn't hover by his side. That would be ridiculous, and besides, Mai's already seized all the prime space for herself.

Instead she practices spinning in ineffectual circles like an idiot while Kelzang fires blasts of air at her feet with too much enthusiasm. Ty Lee watches intently, a look of concentration on her round face when she thinks Azula can't see.

"I know how to dodge already," she says impatiently. "This is a waste of my time."

He scowls at her for a moment, then says, "Jump."

She leaps over the wave of air passing under her feet, still bristling. "This is child's play_—__augh!_" Her feet seem to miss the solid ground as she lands, sliding straight out from beneath her. The hands she throws out to catch herself are flung away from the stone, and she lands hard on her face, bruising her jaw.

Kelzang smirks and says, "You'll have to stay in the air longer than that, Avatar."

She glowers at him with blazing eyes. Impatiently, she snarls, "Enough with these games. Just show me the airbending forms, and I'll do them."

"There aren't any formal katas left to learn, after what your people did to the monastery libraries," the airbender says darkly. "Build them up from scratch, like we had to." A mocking gleam shines in his steel gray eyes. "Unless the spoiled little princess can only learn things handed to her on a silver platter."

Azula stands and meets his challenge with a dangerous smile. "Don't underestimate me, peasant."

When he tries to unseat her again, she pulls something from her memory _(this is child's play)_ and lands on a whirling ball that comfortably blasts away his wave of air. The look on his face says he was expecting her to simply slow her descent.

"That's a highly advanced technique_—_how did you_—_"

She smiles at his poorly-hidden envy and says, "I invented it half a century before you were born."

.

.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore," Mai says suddenly, without a trace of emotion in her eyes.

Caught off guard, Azula tells the truth. "I know."

.

.

When she's certain the others are asleep, Azula finally lets her royal posture go. She slumps beside the fire with a sigh.

"_You don't know what you're doing,_" Toph says, rolling her eyes. "_Again._"

"I'm a people person," she insists. "I can handle this. As long as I don't make empty threats and let them think they're doing what they want_—_"

Toph laughs aloud. _"All your life you've used fear to control people who could be your friends. Zuko and Mai, who rescued you from that prison. Ty Lee, who's putting her entire family in danger to help you, when she could be living her dream. For a prodigy, you're a real moron._"

Azula glares. "If you're trying to make me feel guilty, it won't work. They chose their path. They know the consequences."

Toph looks at her with unnervingly empty eyes. "_They're all you have. Trust them, and they'll return the favor._"

"Trust is for fools. Fear is the only reliable way," she snaps, letting the fire flare with her agitation.

"_I bet Ozai taught you that_."

The fire dims to sullen embers as Azula buries her face in her arms. Almost to herself, she says, "What other choice do I have?"

Ursa sighs and puts an arm over her shoulders that Azula doesn't have the energy to throw off. "I don't want any meaningless platitudes, Mother," she growls, and immediately feels like a sulking child.

_"Everything will be clear in the morning,_" she promises gently, ushering Azula to her bedroll. She tucks in her daughter and hums a long-forgotten lullaby, silhouetted by the fire.

Zuko wakes up with tears still drying on his skin.

.

.

.

.


	8. Spiral

.

.

_(spiral)_

.

.

Kelzang drops a sturdy leather bag in front of her, filled to the brim with grain, sheep goat venison, and all the practical implements they hated themselves for not bringing weeks ago.

"I see we've outstayed our welcome."

"We're temple guardians and herdsmen, not airbending masters. You'll have to go to the Eastern Air Temple for that, Avatar."

"There aren't any real airbenders left."

"Then you know nothing."

Azula twitches. "Even if there are masters, it's halfway across the world from here."

If anything, Kelzang looks impressed, but not at her. He points to a distant white speck that appears to be careening loosely across the sky. "Your friend Ty Lee's excellent with animals. We don't usually try to ride wild sky bison. If she can get a saddle on that thing, he's yours."

He turns to leave, but Azula stands in his path, wearing a look on her face that would be calculating, if the numbers made any sense. Quietly, so no one else can hear, she says, "Why are you helping us?"

He frowns and crosses his arms, unused to scrutiny. "Your eyes tell me you'll see this war through to the end. If anyone can bring peace, it's you."

.

.

"We're burning the bodies," Zuko says. The bodies of the monks have already been put to rest in their barbaric fashion, what Kelzang calls "sky burial," but the countless Fire Nation soldiers, anachronistic armor and all, have been left to wither for a century in spite.

Predictably, Kelzang protests, "After what they did_—_"

"They've already paid with their lives. Let them go home," he answers. He makes as if to ignite the first pile of skeletons, blinks, and repeats the motion. A lone spark leaps from his hand and dies.

Azula almost shrieks with laughter. "Zuzu, don't tell me you've forgotten how to firebend after your years of exile! And you think you're going to be Fire Lord?"

He glowers and yells, "Shut up!" A small flame jumps from his fingers, only to be ripped apart by the mountain wind.

"Here," Kelzang says, passing him a torch with an unreadable expression. Zuko doesn't thank him, but he doesn't snap, either, as he lights the first pyre.

The airbenders' sheep goats, clinging improbably to the sheer cliffs, watch silently as smoke begins to rise from the temple. The mountains sigh, as though with ancient relief.

.

.

"Animals hate me," Azula says, not moving an inch closer to the monster. It seems to appreciate the sentiment, and backs away slightly.

Ty Lee peeks over the sky bison's head as she says brightly, "It's because they're not as sensible as people. Otherwise they'd know that you're the most beautiful, smart, perfect girl in the world! I mean, who _wouldn't_ like you?"

"The entire Fire Nation, for one thing," Azula says, but she appreciates the flattery more than she lets on.

"It's simple, really," Ty Lee says, slipping down from the animal's back. Despite herself, Azula's mood darkens when she sees the way it nudges the acrobat affectionately. "Just feed him an apple."

Azula tosses it and watches, unamused, as it bounces uneaten off the animal's nose. The sky bison blows the rejected apple down the mountainside and continues to stare at her. She feels vaguely offended.

Ty Lee hands her another and prods her forward. "Not like that! Try not to look so ... um, scary." When she's sure Azula isn't bothered, she forges on. "Animals can sense negative energy, like fear and anger_—_just look him in the eyes and show him that you can be trusted."

She looks blankly at the sky bison's giant brown eyes. "You can trust me," she says, in her most authoritative voice, but it only growls.

Ty Lee strokes its ear soothingly and gives Azula an encouraging smile. "Don't try to scare him, and don't be scared by him. Just let him know that he's safe with you."

Azula bites back a retort along the lines of "I'm not afraid!"_ I won't hurt you,_ she thinks, feeling stupid._ I promise._

A vortex of wind sucks the apple from her hand and into the sky bison's mouth. It chews pensively, and almost smiles.

"I knew you could do it!" Ty Lee cries, hugging her with surprising strength. "Want to try to ride?"

At this, Azula swears it_—he—_can understand human speech, because he takes off before she can reply.

"Oh, I guess we can try tomorrow," Ty Lee says, momentary disappointment ignored in favor of her unflappably bright mood. Something in her wide gray eyes makes Azula think she's passed a kind of test of character. "Do you want to help me come up with a name for him?"

"Appa," she says unthinkingly.

.

.

"Ask him what's wrong."

Mai doesn't look up from her target practice. "Ask him yourself."

"He doesn't tell me anything," she says, with a hint of frustration, "even though he knows I can help."

"Zuko doesn't need your help."

"Of course he needs my help. If he can't firebend, he'll get hurt."

"And what do _you_ care?"

Deciding that silence will serve her better, Azula makes a face of deep reluctance and turns away. "Never mind."

She's only taken a few steps before Mai says, in a casual tone, "It's ridiculous how firebending is fueled by anger and hatred. It would be better without stupid emotions getting in the way."

"It wasn't always like that," Azula says, before she can wonder how she knows such blasphemy. She gives Mai a conspiratory smile. "I suppose to truly master firebending, one should seek ancient knowledge. We can stop by the ruins of the first firebenders, the Sun Warriors. There might still be records of powerful techniques there."

Impossibly, Mai smiles back.

.

.

Azula stares at the ancient statues for a long time before she whirls to face her brother with a smirk.

"Zuko, dance with me?"

His expression is stormy, but he sinks into the first stance anyway. "This better teach us some _really_ good firebending."

Their fists touch and they twitch away from each other, waiting for something to happen. When the pedestal rises from the floor, Azula says, "Don't touch it."

"I wasn't going to!" he snaps self-consciously.

They wait for several moments before Azula sighs, "If this is the only lead we have, let's take it."

Zuko doesn't quite say, "I told you so," but he pulls the golden stone from the pedestal with a grin. He stares at it strangely.

"What is it?"

"It feels ... almost alive."

"_Get back!_"

The slime is entirely fireproof, and in short order Azula finds herself scowling up into the sky, trapped beside her brother. With an uncharacteristically level voice that annoys her to no end, Zuko says, "At least we have air. Maybe if we stay calm, we can figure a way out of this."

The tense silence starts to drive her insane.

.

.

"You've gotten a lot better."

"What?"

"Your stances look much stronger. Less hesitant. Before you left, you could barely take two steps without tripping."

"Um."

"That was a compliment, Zuzu. Where are your manners?"

"Uncle's a good teacher."

"... Yes. Remind me to teach you how to redirect lightning."

"Uncle taught you_—_Wait, why would he teach you and not me?"

"I don't know. Maybe because he didn't want to leave me defenseless against Da_—_against O_—_against a lightning-bender."

"Dad didn't ... ?"

"No. And don't call him that."

.

.

"They're peasants, not _barbarians_, and they've been destroyed by this war. They're going to trust you just because you're the Avatar. Whatever you're planning ..."

"I'm hurt, Zuko."

"I'm just saying. They don't deserve to be used and thrown away."

"What are you implying?"

"What you said to those airbenders_—_I hope you were telling the truth."

"I _was!_"

"Okay, okay! I just wanted to know."

.

.

"What did Mom ... Did Mom say anything to you before ... ?"

.

.

There isn't much else to say after that. Azula idly blows streamers of fire into the night sky, trying to mix the colors together like paint. Zuko watches the orange, white, and blue flames dance with a hint of envy, at least until a spear touches the hollow of Azula's throat.

.

.

The piece of the Eternal Flame in her hand flickers almost imperceptibly with nervousness. Zuko notices.

"We're the Fire Prince and Princess. I think we can take these masters in a fight, whoever they are."

She want doesn't admit how much the gleam of his twin dao reassures her.

Her heart stops when Ran and Shao whirl out of their caves with a flash of scales and wings.

When she was younger, Azula would boast about her dragon-killer uncle, and promise to follow in his footsteps. Now she hurriedly wipes every incriminating thought from her mind, because nothing in Iroh's stories could have prepared her for the impossibly powerful forms twining around them. Her pulse hammers in the back of her throat.

"I think they want us to dance."

Nerves fraying, Azula almost snarls, "What about this situation makes you think they want us to dance?"

"Trust me!"

"_Fine!_"

Ran and Shao seem to fall into place as they step into the first form. Azula feels a rush of relief at the familiarity of it all_—_it's just another kata, just another exercise before exacting masters.

The dragon dips and leaps with her, mirroring her arms and legs in perfect time. Neither leads, but they move together, as partners, and if she lets herself sink into meditative calm, she can almost imagine the flex of scales over her skin.

She remembers Ty Lee with a rush of affection, and in spite of the mass of teeth and muscle in front of her, Azula feels almost peaceful.

"I won't hurt you," she says softly.

She doesn't quite scream when the flames roar over them, but her back bumps into Zuko's _(when did he get so tall?)_ and the rasp of his swords half-unsheathed is almost enough to comfort her.

Then she looks up into the vortex of leaping color and heat that doesn't burn, and feels, as if from a great distance, the trickle of tears slipping down her cheeks.

.

.

The guards whisper amongst themselves about the coming execution.

Iroh ignores their smug looks and rumormongering. The Home Guard has never seen war, only the spoils of victory and the shame of defeat, and cannot understand an old man's weariness. They will never forgive Iroh for turning away from Ba Sing Se.

Still, when the Warden throws open the door of his cell, he has to pause for a moment to still the worry in the back of his mind.

"Come. You're being transferred to the Capitol."

There is no higher-security prison than the Boiling Rock. Most prisoners leave only for court-martial and execution. The guards don't even try to hide their satisfied grins.

Iroh disguises his with a grimace of fear and a stutter as the young guards chain his wrists and lead him to the gondola.

The Warden and his entourage of guards are imposingly silent the entire trip, despite Iroh's attempts at light humor. Only after the Warden hands over the key to his shackles does he brush past Iroh and whisper.

"You've got friends in high places," he murmurs, pressing something into his hands. The armored soldiers close in and the Fire Navy lieutenant barks an order.

"Secure the prisoner below deck!"

As the hatch shuts off all light, Iroh turns to him and grins.

"I hope you still have your pipa, Lieutenant Jee, because I think it's music night."

The gray-haired officer laughs and unlocks the cuffs, letting them fall heavily to the ground. "Your tsungi horn is right where you left it, General Iroh."

.

.

"I'm ready to try it with real lightning," Zuko says.

Azula tilt her head, considering. "You're still recovering from before."

"I'm fine."

More than fine, after staring into the dragon fire. Some essential ragged edge in his concentration has been smoothed, and Azula's sure he can handle the splitting, screaming monster that is lightning.

"Then catch!" she shouts with a grin, letting sparks halo her hands.

.

.

Something about the Eastern Air Temple makes her think of Uncle at his most fanciful. She prefers Kelzang's ragged, sharp-eyed gang to the trio of saffron-robed airbenders who descend upon them with a coordinated snap of gliders. They don't look ready to attack, but something in their supremely self-assured attitudes makes Azula wish they would.

"Sonam had a vision of your coming, Avatar," says an old nun, giving Zuko's dao a hard look. "You may enter, but I am afraid you and your friends will need to leave your instruments of violence behind."

Azula rolls her eyes. It's a useless symbolic gesture, the kind Uncle would fall all over. Removing their visible weapons will leave none of them any less deadly than before, but they acquiesce. Zuko lays down his swords and Mai drops a few token knives before they proceed into the courtyard.

"Welcome, travelers. I am Sonam, head monk of this temple."

They introduce themselves, following Azula's lead, who uses the greeting reserved for meeting allied heads of state in their home territory. Zuko sticks to a simple bow.

Some arcane rule of airbender hospitality dictates they eat before anything else, and a feast is set before them in weathered stone bowls_—_lentil soup, vegetable curry, buckwheat noodles, flat barley bread, butter tea. Azula takes the absence of meat as a sign of weakness, the blessing over the meal even more so.

By the time Sonam asks if she's had any experience airbending, the pacifistic undertones have made Azula so restless that she grins and asks for a target. Preferably nothing valuable.

.

.

"I sense you are unsatisfied with the teachings," Sonam says dryly.

"In fire meditation, we use a candle as a focus point, and bend the flame with our breath," Azula says, untwisting her legs from the lotus position with an effort. "This isn't bending. This is boring."

"The purpose of meditation is not to achieve control over your bending. It is a means to achieve control over yourself," he reminds her patiently. "It is your duty to achieve internal balance and cast out illusion. Only then can you bring balance to the world."

"I already have balance," Azula says coldly. Without flinching, she pulls at her chi, just enough to let sparks dance over her fingers without burning the skin. "If I didn't, the lightning would destroy me."

"Lightning attacks internal conflict and weakness of conviction, not spiritual imbalance," Sonam corrects.

He pauses to consider her for a long time. The silence stretches on.

"What?" Azula snaps.

"Perhaps we can dispel illusion in a different way. Come with me."

The monk speaks without looking at her as she hurries to keep pace with his much longer legs. "You have already discovered that fire and air are kin. Further in your Avatar training, you will understand that all elements and all nations are one. This is the illusion of separation, but we will not deal with it today."

They walk into the harsh mountain sun. Sonam turns to face her in the center of the courtyard. "Your eyes speak a thousand words of contempt for our ways."

She makes no attempt to deny it.

"This is the illusion that our vow of compassion makes us weak," he says, silver eyes turning cold as he lifts his hands like blades. "Hold nothing back, and let us dispel it together."

.

.

Fighting a master airbender is like trying to seize the wind. He spirals out of the way of every attack, as if reading her body like a book, his own style alien and unpredictable.

"Your first lesson is negative jing," Sonam says, leaping aside to avoid a razor-edged wind. "The Fire Nation is not aware of our presence, despite having used the coast of this island as a military base for decades. Why?"

"Because Air Nomads are cowards who'd give up their homeland rather than fight," Azula says, trying to anger him enough to make a mistake. "At least you're not stupid enough to believe you can win a war without killing."

Even when she blends firebending kata with Kelzang's unorthodox forms, Sonam seems to simply drift aside and retaliate with broad sweeps that knock the breath out of her. _Running away_, she thinks darkly, _can answer any attack_.

He lets her recover as he says, "We choose our battles. To resist colonization would be to reveal our presence, without changing the stalemate of this war. To give up our ways would be to destroy the Air Nomads as thoroughly as with fire."

She blocks with a broad, unfocused blast of fire, but the air that slips below it loosens her stance enough for Sonam to catch her in the stomach with a harder wind. Azula somersaults with Ty Lee's elegance and returns the favor with a ring of white fire at waist height, only to watch him almost float over the attack.

Azula aims the next slicing flames directly at Sonam's neck, and though he can reverse direction in midair with the blink of an eye, the sleeve of his yellow robe first splits, then catches fire.

"They will find you eventually, and you'll be forced to give up your outdated foolishness," she says, watching him extinguish his sleeve with a breath.

"They have found us a thousand times," he says with a curious smile. "You are not the first firebender I have had the privilege of fighting."

"Then you killed them?" Azula asks, feeling at once eager and disappointed.

"Of course not. Who would believe even a battalion of soldiers wandering down from the mountains, completely unharmed and stinking of the smoke of the blue dreaming poppy?"

.

.

Azula refuses to feel fear as she eyes the sheer drop beyond her toes. The base of the mountain is obscured by clouds, but every instinct tells her it is terrifyingly far down. The urge to step back is almost overwhelming.

"This is the illusion of gravity," Sonam says.

He hands her a glider and pushes her off.

.

.

.

.


	9. Divide

_._

_._

_(divide)_

_._

_._

The wedding is a masterpiece of overstated finery, rich with the spoils of war. The Royal Procession receives the new Fire Lady in perfectly spaced rows of gleaming armor and ceremonial flames. Alongside traditional dishes, the palace chefs incorporate colonial produce to celebrate the continuing march of civilization across the world under Fire Lord Ozai.

No one dares mention his last wife, or his children, or the way the newlyweds look at one another_—_like pieces on a Pai Sho board.

.

.

Flight is a strange miracle, an effortless twining through the air so unlike the exhausting firebending form. She doesn't need to think as she carves through the mountains, only react, and that by instinct.

For the ageless moments she dances on kite wings, Azula forgets the turning of circles within circles in her mind. In the air, everything narrows to the howl in the hollow of her ear, the taut cloth trembling with the wind.

The sky is calling her name.

Sonam gives her a gratingly knowing smile, but she forgives him when he says, "We will substitute flying for meditation."

.

.

Azula spends her free time intercepting messenger hawks heading to the Fire Navy base.

The scroll she's been waiting for is unsigned, but she recognizes Iroh's penmanship immediately, if not the Pai Sho tile that tumbles out when she opens it. The message takes her almost an hour to decipher.

Of course Ozai would move to destroy any possible source of airbending, even those he considers extinct. In mere days, a platoon begins the arduous march up to the Eastern Air Temple.

Sonam watches the approaching red and black specks almost calmly.

"Excellent timing. You have made remarkable progress in such short time," he says, as if commenting on the weather. "We will scatter into the mountains before they find us. I suggest you do the same."

She spears him with a judgmental gaze. "You're abandoning my training."

"You have mastered the physical aspect of bending," he says, in a detached way that negates the praise. "And I have come to the conclusion that your spiritual development would be best served by human experience, not seclusion in our monastery. Your path as the Avatar leads away from here."

"Conveniently for you," she scoffs, unimpressed. "You can run away if you want. I'm going to stop them, since you don't seem to be capable of doing it yourself."

A sudden rockfall interrupts her. Shouts rise up from the soldiers below as boulders and dirt rain down, but it's far enough ahead of them that no one is injured. If she squints, Azula can see a pair of the temple's sky bison flying away from the mountain.

"Whatever you intend to do, you'll have at least an extra day before they find a way past that."

"... Good."

.

.

"It's one platoon. If things get violent, the four of us can handle fifty soldiers."

"I'm not going to fight my own people!"

"If you do exactly as I say, you won't have to. Besides: a common soldier, attack a member of the Royal Family? I don't think so."

"Azula, we're exiles. The Fire Lord wants us dead."

"We're trying to dethrone him. Of course he wants us dead. That doesn't mean that _they_ do. Don't mess this up, Zuko."

.

.

The soldier on night watch raises a shaking hand. "Y-y-you!"

Zuko says, "We need to talk to your commanding officer."

From the look on Lieutenant Shen's face, the last thing he expects is the Fire Nation's most wanted traitors to walk blithely into camp, as confident as if they weren't surrounded on all sides by his soldiers.

"There's a kill-on-sight order for you both," Shen says flatly, one hand ready to strike.

"Nobody's going to die today," Zuko says, with the force of a promise.

The lieutenant doesn't relax. "Why have you come?"

"As crown prince of the Fire Nation," Zuko says, and pauses, instantly feeling the falseness of the words Azula's given him. He doesn't have the air of cold menace or arrogance needed to pull off her particular brand of intimidation. Even if he did, he's not sure he wants to.

In a split instant, he abandons her script.

"No_—_As Zuko, firstborn son of the Royal Family, I'm here to ask for your help."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Azula flinch.

"I've seen the Fire Lord move new recruits to attack experienced Earth Kingdom troops just to provide a distraction. He treats his own loyal children as threats," he says quietly, scar tingling with remembrance. "He has betrayed all of us. Ozai can no longer be trusted with the throne. It's time the crown fell to someone who actually cares about the Fire Nation."

Someone yells "_Traitor!_" and lunges forward, but he doesn't even have time to turn his head before Ty Lee rapidly neutralizes the threat. Mai's air of boredom suddenly becomes murderous without a single muscle moving in her face.

"I'm not here to turn you against your comrades. I'm here to tell you that you don't have to follow the orders of a monster," Zuko says, refusing to let his voice shake. "You're here to destroy the memory of a dead people who lost the war a hundred years ago. There's no honor in attacking a wounded opponent that's already surrendered. Turn back. That's all I ask."

Levelly, Shen says, "Your message is received, Prince Zuko. Leave immediately."

.

.

"You were supposed to make them defect," Azula says, her face unreadable.

"You saw the guy Ty Lee took down! What are we going to do with fifty soldiers whose loyalty we can't trust?" Zuko snaps. More softly, he adds, "We would have had to fight them."

Azula restrains the urge to hit him with an effort. "You can't directly challenge the throne without fighting Fire Nation troops, dum-dum. If you were Fire Lord material you'd know that loyalty's not important as long as you have fear."

Something dawns slowly over Zuko's face, turning his expression to anger. "You're just as bad as Father."

She meets his furious eyes with an unimpressed stare and says, "What did you think you were doing when you joined the war against the Fire Nation?"

The fire rages high.

"I want to save my country, not betray it," Zuko says, barely holding his temper in check, and walks away.

Once the crunch of footsteps over rock dies away, Azula says, "Mai. I need to talk to you."

.

.

As the sun breaks through the early mist, Lieutenant Shen's soldiers retreat without attempting to reach the monastery.

.

.

Zuko reappears in the temple courtyard in the morning.

"Azula ... I thought a lot about what you said."

"You did? Good," she says, genuinely puzzled, but his frown doesn't shift.

"It's helped me realize something," he says emotionlessly. "We no longer have anything to gain by traveling together. I need to find my own way."

She doesn't move as he walks past her to retrieve his pack, or when Mai silently stands to join him.

"Mai ... are you going, too?" Ty Lee asks tremulously, eyes flicking between her friends.

"Stay, Ty Lee," Azula says, and after a moment of hesitation, the acrobat tearfully hurls herself into Mai's arms.

"I'll miss you," she says.

"No need to make a scene," Azula says scornfully. Ty Lee steps back with a sniffle. "We'll see each other again, if you don't get killed."

.

.

"You did that on purpose," Ty Lee says, looking surprisingly unhappy.

Azula looks away.

"He'll be fine. Mai's with him."

.

.

Sand sifts over the weathered rocks of Misty Palms Oasis as Mai and Zuko tether their ostrich horse outside the cantina.

"If you're serious about what you said to Azula_—_"

"Yes."

They walk into the dimly lit cantina. Her undeniably wealthy appearance draws attention, but the knives idly twirling in her hands ensure that eyes quickly turn elsewhere. No one is foolish enough to challenge a _rich_ bounty hunter.

"As little bloodshed as possible. No civil war. How sweet of you," Mai says half-fondly, scanning the crowd and settling on an old man in the corner with a game board. "It'll be hard. You'll have to learn politics."

Her fingers toy with Azula's Pai Sho tile.

"It's a good thing I'm already a player," she says, placing the first tile of the White Lotus Gambit.

.

.

"What are you doing in our woods, you leech?"

"Just enjoying the fresh air," Iroh says, smiling as if the teenager isn't staring him down with hook swords drawn. He sets down his pack. "Would you care to share a cup of tea with me?"

The hook misses his face by inches.

"Although, I wouldn't say no to a nice spar," he amends.

.

.

"Coming here was a waste of time," Azula growls, exhaling jets of white fire all too quickly torn away by the wind. The miserable settlement of the Southern Water Tribe looks barely worth visiting.

Ty Lee curls up in Appa's long fur and says brightly, "If you're cold_—_"

"I'm _not_ covering myself in bison hair."

Appa lands with a grumble and starts to chew on snow. Predictably, Ty Lee coos with a sympathetic face and rubs his head. "Oh, Appa, you must be so hungry."

"The peasants might have something for him to eat," Azula says, looking at what could charitably be called a snow fort. She shivers and breathes flames. "Maybe warm clothes, too. Come on."

They've almost reached the wall when a lanky boy in hastily-applied war paint jumps to the top and shouts, "Stop right there, Fire Nation spies!"

It's painfully obvious he's the strongest warrior in his camp. Azula smirks. "Or what, peasant?"

In reply, he hurls what looks like a bent sword at her, and she sends it spinning wide of its mark with a twist of air. His shocked expression makes Ty Lee giggle.

"He's kinda cute."

"Not now, Ty Lee," Azula says, rolling her eyes, before something sharp and heavy smashes into the back of her unprotected head. She sees blood spray on the snow for a lucid, red-on-white moment before she collapses.

.

.

_She works moisture back into the young woman's dehydrated and sunburned skin as other healers force mashed sea prunes into her mouth._

"_Why did you run?_"_ she asks, curiously touching the engagement necklace at the hollow of her parched throat._

_The woman's sharp eyes open, and a clawed hand seizes hers, gently pulling it away. _"_Freedom,_"_ she whispers._

_Hama understands, and offers a faint smile._

.

.

Azula wakes up to the sound of Ty Lee screaming.

"It burns_—__please,_ take it off_—_"

"I'm trying!"

"My hands, my _hands__—_it hurts, please_—_"

Pure hatred surges through her veins. She struggles to sit up, only to be forced back down by ivory weapons in her face, held by a gaggle of trembling children. Her head spins, and she squints through hazy vision to find Ty Lee.

The warrior-boy lies in a boneless heap in the snow, much to her satisfaction, but Ty Lee's limbs are encased to the joints in ice, rooting her to the ground. Appa stands snarling between her and a peasant girl.

"Don't move, invader!" a chubby five-year-old shouts.

"I don't have time for you," Azula snaps. Impatiently, she circles an arm, summoning a whirlwind to knock the children harmlessly back.

Azula walks past the peasants without looking at them, despite the boy's indignant challenge and the girl's frantic apologies. Appa acknowledges her with a snuffle as she seizes Ty Lee's frozen hands.

"If you lose your fingers, I'll melt this place into the ocean," Azula promises, and breathes white fire over the ice.

.

.

The Pai Sho player looks at the array and tells them to travel west to a small Earth Kingdom village with an annoyingly enigmatic smile. At least he gives them supplies instead of code phrases.

Gaipan is cradled by lush forests and water, curiously picturesque for a recently conquered region. Even the village seems untouched.

The garrison commander comes to greet them on the path, along with an escort of soldiers, so they do the only sensible thing and draw their weapons.

The commander lifts his empty hands, smiling, and says, "General Iroh said you'd be coming."

.

.

"No, Kanna," she says flatly, turning away from the hideously aged face of Hama's friend.

"Avatar Azula," she says patiently, "I ask you to honor the friendship of a past life. Hama would never let the waterbending of the Southern Water Tribe become extinct."

What's left unsaid is told in the barely perceptible flicker of Kanna's eyes to the dilapidated huts and crumbling snow walls of the settlement. The silent presence of despair eats this place alive, and it is as much a prison as any Fire Nation holding facility.

_(freedom)_

She frowns at the dark-skinned girl, who's reconciled with her guilt and returns the expression. "The Fire Nation wants me dead. I don't need an untrained tag-along who'll just get herself killed."

"Make that two untrained tag-alongs!" the boy yells, triumphantly standing on wobbly legs before falling over.

"Sokka, you're not helping!"

Ty Lee turns an irresistible look on Azula and says, "Please, can we keep them?"

.

.

.

.


	10. Tides

.

.

_(tides)_

.

.

"You _knew_. All those years, you knew it was her, and never told me."

"And if I had, what would you have done? Knowing that your father banished you to look for someone he already held?"

.

.

Ty Lee smiles innocently and asks, "Sokka, right?"

It's painfully obvious the only girl his age he's ever spoken to is his sister, because he adopts a painfully low voice and says, "Yeah, I'm kinda ... prince of the Southern Water Tribe."

Katara laughs derisively, but Ty Lee only beams, storybook romances swirling in her eyes.

"Ooh, Azula's royalty too! Maybe you could_—_"

Azula doesn't even look up from her meditation candles as she cuts her off with a sharp, "No."

If anything, she looks encouraged. Ty Lee turns her eyes back to Sokka, sizing him up. "You're a warrior_—_want to spar?"

"Real men don't fight girls."

"It'll be like dancing!" she says, a little too eagerly, and punches him in the arm, hard enough to numb it for a week. He recoils with an octave-leaping yelp.

For the barest breath of a moment, the twinkle in her eyes turns to blade-shine.

.

.

Kyoshi Island is the most civilized place they've been so far. It wouldn't last a moment against a real attack, but she admires Suki's killer instinct and effortless control over her Warriors.

Ty Lee looks at the ceremonial robes and face paint with a bit of longing. It's been a while since she last dressed up for a performance. Azula sees no reason they shouldn't stay awhile, and humor her just this once. They might even be able to see Sokka make a fool of himself.

Besides, some star-struck children have agreed to be her makeshift palanquin bearers for the week.

.

.

Azula puts a hand in the ocean and watches the water ripple around her wrist.

Water is like air, but with more calculation, more subtlety, less forgiveness. An element that remembers past insults, and returns them with interest. Constant motion, push and pull, cycle as the tides, the moon, and the coiling dragon.

She listens to the lap of waves along the edge and mimics their waver.

"Oh," Katara says, watching Azula amplify the surf around her. "It took me weeks to learn that."

"_You're_ not a prodigy," she replies matter-of-factly, trying to convince the water to lift up off the sand entirely. "Waterbending is like making people do things they don't want to. You have to listen to them first."

"I ... sure." The peasant arcs a hand and a globe of water bubbles out of the sea. Azula watches from the corner of her eye and tries to replicate her elegant gesture, but her muscles aren't accustomed to flowing. She only manages a lumpier wave.

Katara somehow manages to be spiteful and patronizing in the same breath. "You learn fast. I'm sure you'll be fine." The sphere hovering in midair slowly freezes over, the same veined creep as blue fire overtaking white, and Azula smiles with recognition.

She lets her mind fall into a familiar cold, calculating trance, and reaches for the water along the shore.

.

.

"You stole the waterbending scroll?"

"I didn't _steal—_I mean, it was high-risk trading!"

"And we need it more. Excellent work. I didn't think you had it in you."

"... That didn't sound like a compliment."

"Does it matter? Let's try these forms."

.

.

A loud splash interrupts her airbending practice, and she turns to glare at the source of the annoyance.

Sokka gestures wildly at a leaping carp, shouting, "The meat is mocking me!"

"It's hard to believe your little village survived so long with a hunter like _you_," Azula says, smiling sweetly, as though she isn't toying with his insecurities.

Ty Lee, ever well-meaning, darts forward with a palm strike, knocking the fish into the grass with pinpoint accuracy. "That was easy! Here you go!" It's exactly the wrong thing to say; Azula couldn't have done better if she were trying.

_(she effortlessly lands the last somersault)_

The Tribesman makes an incoherent noise and stalks off.

When he returns, it's with more fish than they can actually eat.

.

.

It doesn't take long for Azula to learn how to manipulate Sokka and Katara, but it almost disappoints her. They impulsively look for things to protect and nurture, and even though Azula is the child of everything they hate, they can't help but try to do the same for her.

It would be useful if she was in the habit of purposefully making herself look weak.

Quietly, she thinks, _I already have a mother._

_(And I don't need another father.)_

Of course, Ty Lee also instinctively knows the best way to be the center of attention in any situation, and starts playing the cute little sister card for all its worth.

.

.

Iroh stares at them with a darkening expression, and Zuko's stomach churns. "I did not oppose my brother's bid for the throne precisely to avoid this kind of fight," he says. The disapproval scorches.

"And _that_ turned out so well," says Mai, deadpan.

Iroh looks away and sighs, "I made a mistake in allowing him to proceed unchallenged. But I am not suited for conspiracy. Nor, I think, are you, Zuko."

"I have to do this, Uncle," he says, closing his eyes. "We can't ... I _won't_ bring civil war to the Fire Nation. This way, no one else needs to get hurt."

Mai only says, "My parents taught me everything they know."

Tired gold eyes regard them over the rim of a teacup for a long moment. "Perhaps you are more suited for this than I thought."

.

.

She expects assassination attempts, but the first attack of the Yu Yan is surprising enough that she only manages to deflect _most_ of the arrows in time.

Azula doesn't dare pull the barbed arrow from her side, not when she's still surrounded by an unknown number of enemies. The air speaks of recent rain.

Hama snarls for long-delayed vengeance.

There's enough moisture in the ground to deflect the next volley of arrows with well-placed shards of ice, and enough light to catch the flicker of movement in a distant tree.

Thunder shakes the forest. An archer falls from his perch as Azula whirls to meet the arrows of his comrades with a gust of air, but gathering the lightning took too long. One drills through her hand, pinning her to the tree behind her with a scream.

Azula gasps and presses her back against the trunk, willing herself to stay alert. She can't deflect another attack singlehandedly, but she'll settle with surviving.

Something like a translucent dragon whirls around her, enclosing her in a shield of ice. Katara's muffled voice says, "Hold on, we'll take care of them."

For a long, tense second, nothing happens.

"Where'd they go?" Sokka shouts.

"Negative jing," Azula says darkly. In her mind, she's already constructing a new airbending technique.

.

.

"This isn't working."

"You can heal?"

"Apparently not. What are you waiting for? Help."

"But I don't know how_—_"

"If you don't do something, my hand won't work anymore, and I might die, so heal it ... _Please_."

.

.

In the sand, Mai draws the names of the most powerful families and alliances in Court.

"These are our priorities," she says, circling political rivals.

Iroh says, "You've forgotten the Fire Lady's family," and Zuko chokes on his tea.

.

.

"You don't look anything like the Painted Lady."

The girl in flowing robes almost jumps, but turns away and tries to run. Azula lands in front of her with a spray of air and tugs the veil from her face.

Katara glares back under the stylized red swirls.

Deliberately, Azula says, "You know Ty Lee's been losing sleep about Appa." The expected flicker of guilt is quickly suppressed by righteous anger.

"These people need my help."

"There will always be people who need your help. Most of them aren't important."

"They're starving and sick! How could you be so heartless?"

"I'm just being realistic," she says dismissively. "If we waste any more time in this slum, the Yu Yan will catch up to us. Let's go."

"_No!_" Katara shouts, eyes blazing like blue fire. "I will never, _ever_ turn my back on people who need me!"

Azula stares for a long moment, and gives up on trying to understand her.

"You were doing it wrong, anyway," she says, turning to the factory upstream. "If you had any sense, you'd stop the sickness at its source."

Before Katara can protest, Azula's already drawn her hands together, lightning raging between them.

.

.

Hama's howls of triumphant laughter echo through the forest.

As Azula busies herself dislodging the arrows in her sleeve, Sokka appears with a cry of, "Hey, what's taking so long - _WHAT IS THAT?_"

"Fire would have been cleaner, but the trees were too dry," she answers mildly, finally freeing herself.

Sokka mumbles increasingly shrill nonsense while she surveys her work. The Yu Yan prefer to fight from behind fortress walls, and don't react quickly enough to dodge direct attacks. Something to keep in mind.

Azula steps over a shattered bow and retrieves the empty pail. "You fetch water this time," she says, dropping it at his side, and pretends not to be bothered by his flinch.

_(monster)_

"I did what I had to. Don't tell the others," Azula says, looking away from the expression on his face, and heads back to camp, only to stop dead in her tracks when he answers.

"You did the right thing. It's okay."

.

.

"A company of Yu Yan is coming, General Iroh," the garrison commander says, passing him a scroll. "We're being asked to provide provisions and lodging as they search for you and the prince. I'm afraid they're not taking prisoners this time, sir."

"It seems our time together must be tragically cut short, Commander."

"It's been an honor, sir," he says. He doesn't seem like the type for revolution, but with the same military calm, he adds, "We'll defend the people of Gaipan from _both_ sides until this is over."

"You have my thanks," Iroh says, bowing. "As for the child army outside your walls, treat them with justice and mercy. They do not know what they are doing."

.

.

The Fire Nation archers don't seem to notice their presence, as least until one suddenly looks up. A warning arrow flashes through the forest and snaps through Longshot's bowstring. Unfazed, the boy pulls out another.

"We'll have plenty of extra bows once we take down these guys," says Jet, and warbles a signal to the others.

The aim of the Yu Yan is preternatural, but the Freedom Fighters close the distance too quickly for that to matter.

.

.

Pakku surveys them with disdain.

"In our tribe, it is forbidden for women to learn waterbending. I can make an exception for the Avatar, if she asks politely."

Azula knows his type: a self-righteous noble secure in his power, and all the more easy to manipulate for it. She analyzes her options and says, "Master Pakku, I would be honored to be your student," without a trace of sarcasm.

"How could you?" Katara hisses, but Azula ignores her injured pride.

_(she can always kill him later)_

"A wise decision. I will see _you_ at sunrise," Pakku says, turning away.

Katara's voice rises to a shriek. "What do you mean you won't teach me? I didn't travel across the world so you could tell me no!"

"... _No._ Go back to the healing huts with the other women where you _belong_."

She tears off a mitten to make a rude gesture to his retreating back.

Azula reconsiders.

She taps her on the shoulder with a long-nailed finger. "I don't expect a barbarian like you to understand," she says, "but civilized people would settle this with a duel."

"That," Katara growls, tugging off her parka, "is the only good idea I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

"I'll be your second," Azula offers, smirking as the water whip catches Pakku in the back of his balding head.

.

_._

_(push and pull__—_good and evil_—y_in and yang)

The Spirit Oasis makes her vision splinter, as through unfocused eyes, or doubled mirrors. Azula stands under the archway, not sure why she's come back to this place, where the water looks into the skies of two worlds.

On a whim, she curls her fingers. Water ripples, bubbles, and pinches upward.

In the oasis, the partnerless Moon stops circling. A black koi fish thrashes through the sphere of sacred water in her hands.

Azula can sense something splitting apart, a polarization of opposites. Her vision worsens, and blood pounds through her head with the low roar of the tsunami. Something intensifies in the Ocean, as if its deep malevolence is growing deeper.

Her hands start to shake, and she realizes she should never have tried to bend this water. Her chi is too close to that _thing__—_

_(corpses dancing on endless midnight sands)_

_(a clawed hand reaching for vengeance)_

_(Zuko's golden eyes wide with terror)_

"Why are you holding a fish?" Katara asks, stepping through the door, and the spell is broken. Azula lets it fall back into the Spirit Oasis with a gasp of relief. The endless dance continues, and the threatening darkness vanishes like smoke.

"It's not," Azula says. Katara pretends not to notice the tremble in her fingers.

They watch the Moon and Ocean circle one another in silence.

.

.

Mai says, "Hold still, Father," and drives a dagger into the wall beside him.

He doesn't make the mistake of moving, so that the next knives flicker past his neck without touching him.

Admiring the mirror finish on another blade, she says, "A single wrong move on my part could jeopardize your future. Looks like Mother was right, after all."

"I ... "

"Listen," she interrupts. "Opportunities like this only come once in a lifetime, and you already took your fair share after Azulon."

She places a scroll on her father's desk, and says, "The next Fire Lord is as good as crowned. It's time for you to reconsider your loyalties."

Mai vanishes before he can reply.

One piece of paper reads, _WE HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER_ in threatening bold calligraphy.

The second says, _Just in case. Family has to keep up appearances, after all. But don't tell Mother._

He stands over the two for a long moment before a slight smile breaks over his face. Stuffing the first note into a locked drawer and burning the second, he murmurs, "That's my girl."

.

.

Standing before the elders of the Northern Water Tribe is a thousand times more irritating than listening to Ozai's war councils. At least the generals looked at her like a tool to be used.

These barbarians look at her as if she is no use at all.

Her mouth hardens as she steps forward with military precision.

"Chief Arnook. Honored elders. The Northern Water Tribe has neglected its duty to the world for too long. You must cripple the Fire Navy before summer's end."

Azula ignores the patronizing looks in their eyes and lets her last sentence fall. "Sozin's Comet will return, and you will be destroyed."

Their disbelief shades into fear, perfectly on cue. Azula hides a smirk.

As long as she can use them, it doesn't matter what they think of her.

.

.

"My lord, we've discovered incriminating correspondence between High Generals Wei and Zan. They appear to be ringleaders of a conspiracy against the other members of your war council."

"I am not interested in the petty games of officials."

"The ultimate object appears to be your overthrow. Zan has a small bloodline claim to the throne through the Fire Lady."

"... You have done well in bringing this to my attention. Have him dealt with."

"And Wei?"

"I think Zan will be a fitting example to him. Keep him under surveillance. Let him know he's being watched."

"As you wish."

"And bring me the new record of the line of succession. There are ... family matters to attend to."

.

.

.

.


	11. Pull

_._

_._

_(pull)_

_._

_._

"A single kayak of waterbenders could easily cripple a warship and still have time to escape," Azula says.

A grizzled warrior scoffs, "You've never fought a warship, have you?"

She unravels her scroll with a flick of one wrist, revealing intricate lines of ink in spiderweb complexity. "You've never learned the basics of modern shipbuilding, have you?" Azula says, matching his tone with a mocking lilt. "And you don't have access to the plans for every major class of Fire Navy vessel. I do."

She snaps the blueprints shut the moment the elders lean in for a closer look. With narrowed eyes, Azula says, "I'm not just giving them to you. I'm here to make a deal."

Something changes in Chief Arnook's eyes, as if he has chosen to take her seriously, at last.

.

.

_WE HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER._

He smiles. Not the most traditional, but it certainly gets the point across. He's also aware that this, more than anything else, has cemented his loyalty to the exiled prince.

The chance to be father-in-law to the Fire Lord is irresistible.

.

.

Lanzi offers the prince a polite bow, instinctively understanding that he won't be impressed by the cringing, floor-kissing prostration favored by his father.

It's gratifying to see the same lessons he drilled into Mai melded into the distinctive carriage of the Royal Family, as if she's spent days retraining the exile into a proper noble.

"Zan's death was uncalled for."

More straightforward than a noble should really be, but then Mai was always paradoxically blunt.

"The line of succession needed to be dealt with. The Fire Lady's family has his attention now."

"You killed him."

To deny it would be a meaningless quibble, so he says pleasantly, "Should I have done something else?"

(_This is what you wanted, isn't it?_)

"Yes," he says, with surprising fire. "Honor—"

"This is a shadow war, of ink and words. We have our own honor."

Zuko's mouth thins to a stubborn line. "No. More. Murder."

He bows his assent, unconcerned.

(_Accidents happen._)

.

.

She points to the ice model ship and uses small words so the waterbending students will understand.

"The lower levels are most vulnerable at these points. You'll need a ruthless and unflinching attack to do it, but unfortunately waterbenders don't have quite the right attitude, so don't even try to do it alone. Redirect. Katara: catch."

Azula strikes with a sudden torrent of water, but the other girl lives and breathes waterbending: the lightning reflex, positive-negative jing. Katara returns the attack flawlessly, splitting the sky with a sharpened pillar of ice.

She saunters forward with a grin. "Pretty good, huh?"

Azula shrugs and drawls, "If I hadn't warned you beforehand, you wouldn't have been able to keep up."

Curiously, her smile only grows wider. "Is that a challenge, Princess?"

.

.

"Didn't your sister ever tell you not to poke your nose in other people's things if you want to keep it attached to your face?"

The ice recedes enough to let Sokka shake his head frantically.

"Funny. That's what I always told my brother," Azula says, and kicks his hand, sending pieces of ice and a scroll flying. She plucks the blueprints from midair and lets a sufficiently intimidating moment pass before asking, "What were you doing?"

"You could have picked better points," Sokka says, trying to unobtrusively crawl out of the ice encasing him.

Curiously, Azula unrolls the plans and examines the ink scrawled blotchily over the plans, targeting tension-bearing beams and even, to her surprise, the hydraulic pumps. With the curious instinct of a Water Tribe warrior, he's sketched a plan of attack that could sink a ship in minutes, faster than most people could reach the lifeboats.

"They don't need to know this," Azula says, as if she's already considered and discarded his ideas.

His face is guileless as a child's, so she can see the exact moment his thoughts go from _Are you conspiring with the Fire Nation?_ to _You're protecting your people_.

The misguided understanding in his eyes agitates her. Azula almost decides to change her instructions, just to prove him wrong.

She's not entirely sure why she doesn't.

.

.

"Yao, it's an honor to see you again."

"Do come in," he answers, with a look of extreme reluctance. His men were humiliated by Mai's daggers; to encounter her father is almost an insult.

Something desperately earnest blooms in his face as he enters, and Yao can't help but be interested when he draws the curtains. With an air of grave seriousness, Lanzi says, "I'm calling in a favor."

.

.

"Do me a favor. Yao's been making noises."

The older man smiles at the harassed-looking noble. Yao is a common enemy, and he might as well take all the gratitude he can, before Yao's plotting takes hold and the favor owed is useless.

After a flurried war in rumors and threats, Yao takes an extended vacation to the country in disgrace.

Mai's father slips unnoticeably down the Court hierarchy as the enemies of his enemies fight for power. He barely misses receiving the honor of the governorship of Omashu. The Court titters at the obvious snub, but Lanzi soldiers on with a smile.

.

.

Something about the blinding white fields of snow makes her pulse hum. It takes her a while to place the feeling, but eventually Azula realizes that it feels like the surge of fire that comes with the dawn after a long, long night. It feels like the tides, pushing and pulling, the surf roaring.

"_It's a full moon,_" Hama says, beckoning. "_Let's go out and play._"

As if in a dream, Azula wanders out onto the ice, following the starlight figure flowing over the snowdrifts. She doesn't feel the bite of the wind on her exposed face, not with the gaze of the Moon upon her skin, burning with unknown purpose.

She struggles through the snow that Hama floats over effortlessly, until the waterbender stops, and points.

A herd of reindeer yaks huddle together for warmth in the lee of a rocky outcropping. Their breath steams in the freezing air, lit by the harsh moonlight. Without a single word spoken, Azula understands.

Blood is life; it is water and fire, pulsing its own determined course through the rivers of the body. Water.

"_Play,_" Hama whispers.

Azula reaches out to grasp that fire-water-life, and make it hers.

.

.

For all her flightiness, Ty Lee trains with singleminded dedication in an isolated part of the city that isn't quite isolated enough. Whether or not she's aware of her sizeable male audience, Katara is, and she isn't happy.

A threatening lurch of the snow at their feet sends most of them running. The stragglers are swallowed to the eyes in ice. Katara might swear she didn't mean to take it that far, but she catches Azula's knowing smile the next day, and can't deny the moment of satisfaction.

Then she has a fit when she finds Ty Lee walking on her bare hands on polar ice, mittens discarded.

"Those things constrict my fingers so I can't balance," she says, showing her the raw red skin.

There doesn't seem to be anything else for it, so Katara takes a needle and some penguin seal gut to turn the mittens into a pair of gloves, much to Ty Lee's delight.

"Thanks!" she cries, hugging her ferociously around the stomach, and just as abruptly flitting off. Katara doesn't even have time to blink before she starts practicing handstands again, as if nothing's happened.

Katara stands there for a beat, half-stunned. Too quietly for the acrobat to hear, she says, "Thank you."

.

.

"It's a test," Mai says, admiring the assassins' knives before adding them to her arsenal. "If they really wanted you dead, they'd just tell the Fire Lord."

Zuko sheathes his swords with a frown. "Then we just ... let them go?"

"Whoever sent them wants to know you're not to be trifled with," she says, tilting one masked face up. "I think we've proven ourselves worthy. Tell your master."

.

.

"High General Toza can't be trusted," Lanzi says.

"Someone with that kind of power would be useful," replies Zuko. The noble offers him the same cynical smirk Mai does.

"Of course he'll be useful, but don't let that fool you. Remember, you can't trust me either."

.

.

It's Sokka who says, "The war's worst in the west. All the best earthbenders will be there. We'll find a teacher there."

He sounds so abruptly reasonable (two minutes ago he was trying to juggle his boomerang, with predictable results) that everyone blinks in surprise, except Azula.

.

.

They meet Toza in the most isolated place possible and bring their weapons, but that doesn't even make him frown. The assassins stand at his side without a hint of rancor.

"Why didn't you kill them?" the noble asks, eyes sharp from within his wrinkles.

Toza waits for him to look to Mai with an air of condescension, but Zuko doesn't need even the slightest of hints anymore.

"Any fool can take a life. Why should I have permanently removed your retainers when your intent was obvious?"

"I ordered them to assassinate you."

"If I've done you a disservice by sparing them, I can take care of that now," Zuko says dryly. The two men don't so much as twitch, not until Toza steps backwards and nods.

Steel flies from their sleeves, only to be deflected by a volley of Mai's knives. Without breaking pace, they draw their swords and lunge, but Zuko's already spinning away. His twin dao flash in the starlight as he steps circles around them, slipping between their blows as lightly as a leaf on the wind.

He was far from unoccupied in their time with the airbenders.

In a hairsbreadth of an opening, though, Zuko flashes forwards, striking with the hilts. Swords fall from nerveless fingers as Mai steps between them with quiet precision, holding her knives to jugular veins. No one moves in the sudden quiet.

"Impressive," Toza says, but Zuko frowns.

"Pulling the same trick twice? You should be more careful with the ones loyal to you." He glances at the two warriors and says, in open invitation, "_I_ won't throw people's lives away."

"Neither will I," the noble replies, and with a whirl of movement that Mai can't follow, his men are at his side, unharmed. "Forgive me, Prince Zuko. I had to see for myself."

"And what have you seen?"

High General Toza smiles like a knife. "Our next Fire Lord."

.

.

Of course they attack the weakest link. Ty Lee can catch arrows with her bare hands and Katara has the reflexes of a true waterbending master.

(_No one in their right mind would ever try to prey on Azula._)

They leave arrows scattered in the forest, but no note, because they know her too well. The Fire Princess would never bother rescuing a captured subordinate.

"They won't damage him," she tells Katara lightly, twirling an arrow between her fingers. "If it was one of us they'd crush his hands at the very least."

Ty Lee slumps miserably, but Katara turns with eyes hard as ice and starts to shriek.

"I thought you were better than this, you heartless—"

(_monster_)

"You're not listening," she says. "Everyone underestimates Sokka."

"We're going back for him," Katara says, daring her to disagree.

Azula frowns at her. "Obviously."

.

.

Plate armor makes chi-blocking more difficult than usual, but for her it's just a new rule in the game.

Ty Lee steps into the cell first and feels the happy adrenaline rush shudder to a breathtaking halt in her veins. Her prepared lines seem absurdly childish now.

(_My Prince, I'm here to rescue you._)

Suddenly, Azula's presence at her back is intensely painful.

Very distantly, she hears her say, "I'll meet you outside," as the sound of her footsteps passes away, deeper into the fortress.

.

.

Lightning flashes with a crackle of superheated air as the door is hurled open. The firelight accents the thin, angular features of the girl in the doorway. A strange hunger burns in her golden eyes.

"Colonel Shinu. I presume I'm not inconveniencing you?" Azula says. She glances out of the window, where even at this distance she can see Katara's water leaping in the light of the full moon.

"You little—"

"Good. Let's have a chat," she interrupts, as she takes the colonel's chair. "I couldn't help but notice some interesting injuries on your prisoner."

"You're not stupid enough to go after a nonbender peasant," he says, deliberately facing away from the charred bodies of his entourage. "We didn't take him as bait—we knew you wouldn't come. He was only useful for information."

A shutter flickers behind her eyes, a lightning-fast break in her amused demeanor, before she looks back with a practiced smile.

"You were wrong. So let me tell you something, Colonel," Azula says, leaning back in the chair for a beat, as if to compose herself.

Without warning, she lunges across the desk, seizing the old man by the throat and knocking him to the ground. Her nails cut oozing gashes as she hisses, "_They. are. mine._"

His only reply is a desperate gasp.

"Don't touch them again."

"Nngh—"

She steps back and flicks blood from her fingertips. "Let the others know."

He nods frantically, but the longer Azula watches him, the more something dark and furious seems to grow in her throat.

And there's really no reason she shouldn't indulge, just this once.

"No," she muses, "I think your corpse will speak for you if I'm ... _eloquent_."

Shinu moves with all the force can muster in a single firebending blow, but with a gesture he's cut off mid-strike. His entire body begins to shake as he lifts slowly off the ground.

She's not even touching him.

"The Fire Nation was wrong about the primacy of fire," Azula whispers, listening to the roar of moonlight on her skin and the creep of blood in his veins.

.

.

Afterwards.

Ty Lee has a strained look on her face that can only partially be attributed to exertion. She holds Azula's hands and runs her fingers over the drying blood.

"Your aura's gone all funny," she says, silent tears passing through the grime on her cheeks.

She actually has to force her voice to stay even.

"I suppose it has."

Azula still can't control the inexplicable rage that wants to run back and burn the stronghold to the ground; she can only drown it in a louder voice telling her to stand close as the healing water ripples.

She's not sure how it happened, but when Katara slumps with exhaustion, she's at her shoulder with Ty Lee, carefully lowering her to her bedroll.

(_they are—mine—mine—mine—_)

"I took care of him," Azula says with unusual openness. She's even more surprised when Katara understands exactly what she means.

Red-rimmed eyes grow wide. "You ... you didn't ..."

"Don't lie to yourself. You know he deserved it." And it must be the exhaustion that's making her push and beg for understanding—for forgiveness—

The silent flicker of hesitation tells volumes. "But you can't just ..."

Azula considers a moment, and says, "_You_ can't," with something of a grudging compliment. "So it's a good thing you have me."

.

.

Ty Lee greets him with a squeal and a hug that somehow manages to encircle him without brushing a single bruise. Sokka yelps anyways.

"He's awake!"

Katara bursts into the tent, half-panicking, but when she sees her brother's expression, her eyes fill with tears.

"Idiot—don't ever do that again," she says, tentatively embracing them. "I was so worried."

"I wasn't worried for a second, 'cause I knew you were coming," Sokka says, grinning. He looks up and sees the figure too-casually lingering outside.

"Come on, Azula. Being part of the group also means being part of group hugs."

"I'd rather not," she begins to say, but Katara grabs her hand and pulls her in with only token resistance.

.

.

.

.


	12. Push

_._

_._

_(push)_

_._

_._

It takes a surprisingly long time for her to realize that something's been missing from her life, and even longer to swallow her pride to do something about it.

"Care to explain why I had to waste my time with meditation to see you?" Azula asks tetchily.

Toph actually laughs, loud and uncivilized, but strangely faint. The translucent hand on her shoulder is definitely less solid than before.

"_It's cute how backwards you've got it. You haven't asked for me in a while. Guess you don't need me to hold your hand anymore_," she says, grinning. Her voice blurs into echoes, as if she's beginning to be subsumed by her previous lives. "_Except you're going the wrong direction. Ba Sing Se's nice this time of year._"

Something like panic coils in her stomach. Azula forces the words out of her tightening throat. "You're leaving?"

(_her cloak vanishes into the palace shadows_)

Her expression turns ... not quite soft, but the grin turns into something that's almost a scowl. "_Idiot. You're never gonna get rid of me_."

"What about Mother?"

This time it's almost certainly a scowl. Her eyes vanish sullenly under her fringe. "_Trust me, you don't need _her_, either_."

.

.

"It's too dangerous for an old man like me in the Fire Nation," Iroh says gently.

Zuko stays calm with an effort. "Uncle ..."

"I know you will do well," he says, voice dropping to seriousness. "You have a heart for the Fire Nation like none I've ever seen."

"But I can't—"

Zuko doesn't know how to express the squirming discomfort he feels in hiding, or the look on Lanzi's face when he's said something naive.

_If you leave, I don't know if I can still act with honor—_

"I said you would do well. I did not say it would be easy," Iroh warns, hand on his nephew's shoulder. His eyes glint without their usual friendliness. "This is a Court war, nephew."

—_and you're giving me permission, aren't you?_

Zuko swallows. "What ... what are you going to do?"

"Maybe I'll start a tea shop!"

"You mean you're going to gather the Order of the White Lotus."

"Hm. I keep forgetting you know about that."

.

.

Iroh's parting gift is a box of the finest ginseng oolong tea leaves in the Fire Nation.

Zuko has learned enough by now to know that it's not for him.

.

.

Azula steps off Appa's back in a paved court in the middle of the Palace complex: not far enough to mix with the rabble, but not close enough to infringe on the Earth King's domain.

She's so confident she's appropriately judged the proximity allotted a foreign power that the stone cuffs that snap around her wrists come as a complete surprise.

"No one's allowed through the palace walls," a severe-looking woman in a green uniform says. Behind her stand troops in the same flowing clothes and round hats. She doesn't make any other moves, but she doesn't back down, either. Azula turns with icy dignity.

"Release me. This is no way to treat your Avatar."

Azula catches something in the woman's hard face, like a jolt of recognition, but she doesn't change her stance. "I'm sorry, but my city's security depends on order. I won't make an exception for you."

_I don't know if you can be trusted_, Azula parses, and adjusts her approach accordingly.

"I understand, but I intend to speak to a representative of the king as soon as possible. If the Palace is off-limits, I would be happy to arrange something else."

"I'm sure the Grand Secretariat would be interested in an audience," she says, still wary. "I'll notify him immediately, but there may be a delay. The Ministry of Culture will arrange hospitality."

_Direct access to power,_ Azula notes silently. She dips her head with respect. "Azula, Avatar and _ex_-Princess of the Fire Nation," she says, making her renounciation clear.

The stone cuffs slip apologetically from her wrists and reform around the woman's fingers. She inclines her head in return.

"Dai Li Agent Lin Beifong."

.

.

"We need to control the Home Guard if we want the Capitol," Zuko says, offering Toza a steaming teacup. "Removing Yao wasn't enough."

The old man pauses to enjoy the aroma before taking a sip. "Ginseng oolong. How did you know it was my favorite?"

"Lucky guess," he says, unamused. His own tea sits untouched by his side. "I want you to bring a few men in for interrogation."

.

.

Lieutenant Shen stands rigidly outside the interrogation room as the high general calls him in.

"Why didn't you destroy the Eastern Air Temple?"

"There was no need, sir. Nothing but ghosts in those ruins."

"I didn't take you for a superstitious man, Lieutenant."

When he doesn't respond, the high general says, "Your men have told me some ... interesting stories. Care to elaborate?"

"Not particularly."

"That wasn't a suggestion," he says humorlessly. "Tell me what the Avatar and Prince Zuko wanted with you."

His mouth goes dry. He sees the execution at his doorstep, and regrets everything.

No. He regrets nothing.

"They told me the truth," he says, heart racing. "Everything we've done ... the Fire Lord ... I was tired of destroying things. I turned away."

The high general smiles. "The consequence of treason is death."

"This was my responsibility, and mine alone," he says, making one last effort. "Let my men not suffer for my mistake."

He turns away, hands clasped lightly behind his back. Almost casually, he says, "It's fortunate that you'll only be charged with incompetence."

Shen blinks and almost makes the mistake of speaking, but the high general continues.

"Foolish of you, to mistake an insurrectionist's forgery for a genuine order from your commanding officer."

"High General Toza, I don't understand—"

"You'll be demoted and reassigned to a minor command role in the Home Guard," he says. "The men who persisted in defending your mistake will join you."

_I see_. His pulse pounds in his throat.

"Do you accept?" Toza asks, finally looking him in the eyes.

His teachers would tell him to reject this treason, whatever the consequence. To rebel against the Royal Family ...

... but he said _Prince_ Zuko, didn't he?

"Yes, sir."

Toza smiles like a sated wolf bat. Shen doesn't try his luck by asking about the men who turned on him.

.

.

Katara's practicing the eel hound form when the door slides open with a rustle of paper.

"Hello."

Despite herself, she flinches. The sinuous water breaks and falls back into its jug.

"Azula, what is it?"

She doesn't respond, but steps lightly into the room on bare feet, the green dress ill-suited to her pale features.

The Ministry of Culture's misjudged her size, because Azula always gives the impression of being bigger than she is. The silk hangs awkwardly from her frame, and she looks like a child caught trying on her mother's clothes. Katara can't help the soft smile that comes to her lips.

Azula's fingers latch around her wrist, nails pressing into the skin. Her grip is light, only meant to hold.

Katara feels something cold rush down her spine. The dark brown pattern on the oversized sleeve isn't embroidery, it's blood. Somehow it's obvious it's someone else's.

(_I took care of him._)

"Don't leave me," Azula says, almost pleading.

Her nails cut into the soft skin of the underside of Katara's wrist as she tries to twist away.

"You're my ..." For a moment her focus wanders, puzzled, then lands on Katara's face with frightening intensity. "You're _mine_."

There are bony fingers around her throat as Azula's gleaming golden eyes draw close. Her pale skin is freckled by a spray of red droplets.

"I won't let you leave me," she hisses.

Blood drips slowly down Katara's neck and soaks the front of her dress.

"Stay?" Azula asks.

She whispers, "Yes," and hates the cowardly tremor in her voice, but fighting back has never seemed a worse idea.

Satisfaction glints in her uncanny eyes. "Good," Azula croons, wiping away the blood with the pad of her thumb.

.

.

Katara wakes up screaming.

.

.

They watch each other across the fireplace like coiled serpents.

"You didn't bring your friends, I see," Long Feng says.

"They're unimportant." Azula leans forward, the green light throwing her features into sharp relief. "I have information that will end the war this summer. One way or another."

"Is that so?" he asks in a casual tone belied by the dilation of his pupils. "Do share."

"An exchange," she replies. "I'm looking for a teacher. Who is the greatest earthbender in the world?"

"I am."

Azula tilts her head. "Do you really believe that?"

He doesn't reply.

"I can tell when people lie to me," she says, watching his face. "I'm not _blind_."

Ah. There it is.

.

.

The concentration it takes just to summon a wispy image of the blind woman is almost disheartening. Azula lets the starlight figure dissipate so that she can focus on her voice.

"Tell me about Long Feng."

Azula catches hazy flashes of memory as they pass through Toph's mind. "_Clever kid. Too clever._"

"Should I be worried?"

"_Not as clever as you,_" Toph says, the grin evident in her tone. "_Just watch your step. He's completely loyal to Ba Sing Se. You can't fake that kind of emotion. Not to me._"

(_Ba Sing Se will be fine. We need soldiers on the front. Quit your whining._)

(_Avatar, I'm begging you._)

Azula wades out of the memory and seizes the fraying thread of her connection to Toph. "Your daughter."

The roil of emotion that pulses over her makes her stomach turn. Azula's mouth thins to a white line when she realizes.

"You abandoned her."

Guilt burns like acid in her throat. "_I had to go back to the war. Just for a few years. She was safe._"

"She would have been safer with you."

The voice hesitates. "_I lied when I said I wasn't afraid of anything. You don't understand. I couldn't have taken her with me._"

"You left," she hisses, furious for no reason.

"_I regret it more than anything_," Toph says, before Azula lets her voice vanish into the ether.

.

.

"I've been assigned as your earthbending teacher," Lin says, not looking especially thrilled.

An expression of surprise crosses Azula's face. "Strange. I would have thought ..."

The woman's eyes narrow. "Not good enough for you?"

"Please. You're the _greatest earthbender in the world_," she says, giving her voice a half-remembered brazen lilt.

Lin twitches.

"Don't call me that."

.

.

High General Toza isn't surprised by the shadow in his office, but the low, tightly-controlled quality of his voice is new.

"You sent the others to the eastern front, then?"

He smirks. "Rewarded for their loyalty and cowardice with a chance to win glory against the finest warriors of Earth Kingdom. Idiots. They'll be slaughtered."

(_But the 41st are entirely new recruits. How do you expect them to defeat a powerful Earth Kingdom battalion?_)

(_What better to use as bait than—_)

"Fresh meat," Zuko echoes.

"Precisely. We can't have them spreading rumors."

"Of course," he says quietly. He pauses before he asks, "You've ensured it, then?"

"No mistake."

"Good."

Unconsciously fingering his scar, he sweeps out without another word.

.

.

At the Boiling Rock, a dozen guards inexplicably leave. Rumor has it, a clerical error up in the Warden's office sent out their pensions ten years early.

Either way, their replacements are fresh off the boring part of the war front, full of tall tales and boasting. They've obviously been sent home because of some embarassing failure, so no one takes their stories seriously.

As if some half-rate soldiers could ever meet the Avatar in person and live to tell the tale.

(_Everyone knows about Colonel Shinu._)

.

.

Katara dreams of snow, and a day not quite cold enough to freeze the tear tracks on her face.

"Katara, please," Hakoda's voice says, his face an amorphous shadow haloed by the sun. "You'll have Gran-Gran and Sokka and—"

"I don't want them, I want _you!_" she screams, voice cracking.

Gran-Gran's arms latch tight around her. Her thrashing feet dig ineffectual trenches in the snow, but Gran-Gran still won't let go.

"I need you to be strong."

"Don't leave me, Daddy," she begs, letting her voice drop to a pathetic tremble. Hiccuping sobs wrack her body as she stops struggling.

It doesn't work. Hakoda presses a kiss to her wet cheeks and turns to leave.

_Not again_, she thinks. _Never again._

She suddenly twists around in Gran-Gran's loosening grip and hits hard at the pressure points, just as Ty Lee showed her. The old woman stumbles and falls, but Katara's already tearing herself away.

Hakoda stands impossibly tall, his features shadowed.

The perfect solution comes to her like a flash of lightning. Katara reaches out a hand and listens to the roar of blood pulsing through her father's body.

"I won't let you leave me."

.

.


	13. Coil

_._

_._

_(coil)_

_._

_._

Earthbending is crude, barbaric, and vaguely filthy. It has none of the fierce joy of fire, the exaltation of air, or the dynamic balance of water.

Also, it makes her look ridiculous.

"Lower," Lin says, in a tone that brooks no argument.

Azula scowls and sinks her horse stance until she's practically squatting.

The rock bruises her hand, but refuses to move more than an inch.

.

.

"Your nails are impractical," Lin observes dryly. "You can't make a fist without cutting your palm."

Azula resists the urge to snap. "They're a sign of royalty, obviously."

"It means you can't strike solidly. Get rid of them."

"Lin," she begins, absolutely not whining, but the older woman cuts her off harshly.

"That's Agent Beifong to you," she says, and something flickers in her expression. Azula blinks—

"_Mother, I'm telling you, the war is going well. The Dai Li need me. You don't._"

"_That's not the point. Long Feng's got his head so far up his—_"

"_It's my decision._"

"_Lin ..._"

"_That's Agent Beifong to you._"

—and fills in, quietly, "And here I thought that name couldn't get any stuffier."

Lin flinches.

.

.

"If you can remember unimportant conversations, you can remember seismic sense," she says, knotting the blindfold tightly. "Come and get me."

The ground rumbles. The recasting of sunlight and shadow over her skin suggests a series of chest-high ridges, but apart from that, Azula can't sense a thing.

"I'm waiting."

Azula lunges towards her voice, only to slam into a solid rock wall.

She knows fire and air; she can read wind currents like breathing, but the sheer immobility of stone is an empty mystery to her.

And she's definitely not imagining Toph's raucous laughter every time she runs into another wall.

"You can do better than that."

"I'm trying!" Azula snarls, whirling towards her and meeting another wall, this time with her hands.

She knows she looks perfectly foolish, groping around in the dark. Lin's motivational words only infuriate her more.

"Enough," Lin snaps, ripping off the blindfold. Azula blinks in the sudden brightness and flinches away from the scowl on the woman's face. "That was pitiful. I could do better when I was three."

Every nerve ending lights at once. "That's not fair!" Azula protests. She staggers as her vision goes dark. "You—

_—were born blind,_"_ screams the shrill voice of a child, _and Azula almost shudders with the flow of information assaulting her senses.

_forty-eight pounds - weight on the left foot - elevated heart rate - bruises - a sniffly nose - trembling hiccuping - shame -_

She knows what comes next, of course.

(_Yeah, well, I had to teach myself everything, so you should be even better!_)

But that's not what happens. Instead, her mouth says, "Lin, I only wanted to make sure no one could hurt you."

The sudden shift in the vibrations tells her to move, but her body doesn't react fast enough to dodge Lin's punch.

.

.

"Azula! Joo Dee says we can have food delivered to our—What happened to your face?"

"Shut up, Sokka."

"Are you _bleeding?_"

"Yes. You'll be, too, if you don't drop it."

"Um. Sure. Want some Si Wong barbeque?"

"... If there's fire flakes."

.

.

Lieutenant—no, Second Lieutenant Shen—takes a long moment to steady his breath before he says, "Good evening, sir."

Prince Zuko unapologetically drops from the ceiling of Shen's chambers. "I thought you might want to see me in person."

Shen is silent for a long moment. Finally, he says, "If I could ask a question, sir."

The prince nods.

"My men. The rest of them, I mean."

"The ones who betrayed you, and told the interrogators about me."

"Yes," he says, not flinching. "What happened to them?"

Prince Zuko doesn't look happy, exactly, but a weight seems to lift off his shoulders. "I knew you were the right man for the job."

.

.

Azula makes a game out of evading the Dai Li bodyguards long enough to drop in on the Grand Secretariat unannounced.

"What are you doing that you don't want Lin to see?"

Long Feng manages to control his expression, but the sudden tension in his shoulders speaks for him.

"I expected you to keep a close eye on me, but it's obvious she's no friend of yours," Azula continues thoughtfully. "You're using me to keep her out of the way. There's something more objectionable than censorship."

"Don't be ridiculous," he says in an irritatingly patronizing tone. "Most of the Dai Li have benefited from her skills. It's only proper to offer the Avatar the best instructor our city has to offer."

She shrugs. "I'm not interested in undermining your place in Ba Sing Se. But you'll only have one chance to save your precious city before the comet. Don't ruin it by lying to me."

The contempt on his face fades.

"Trust me, and I'll tell you about the eclipse," Azula says.

.

.

High General Toza takes the empty seat. The fact that it's slightly smaller than Mai's doesn't escape his notice.

"If he has any sense, Jinza will start trying to pull recruits from anywhere he can get them."

"And the court-martials?"

"Still under my direct control."

"Good. This woman's up for disciplinary review in two days. Failure to suppress insurrection in the colonies." Mai slides a scrap of paper across the table. Toza memorizes the name and lets the ashes fall away.

"I only have so much power with the Home Guard. The sooner Jinza's promoted, the better."

As if commenting on the weather, Mai replies, "The Office of the Home Guard just got an anonymous tip. Jinza will be out of our way in a couple weeks if the Fire Lady doesn't make trouble about her nephew's arrest."

"After Zan and Wei, I doubt she has the power."

"Anything else interesting?"

"Naval high command is competing for the honor of being the first line of defense during the eclipse."

"How predictable," she sighs. "Pick who you'd most like to humiliate."

.

.

Shen's not the most obvious choice to replace Jinza as captain of the Home Guard, but after a few weeks no one remembers where he came from.

Most people treat the Home Guard as a punishment while the other military branches go out to win glory. Shen tracks down every single recruit and reminds them that the Fire Nation depends on the Home Guard; something about his tone makes people think of their families.

The ones swayed more by bloodlust than patriotism beg to be on the front lines, to wait whatever invasion might come, and Shen only hesitates a little before relenting.

To a select few, he whispers sedition.

.

.

Azula doesn't hide the impressed look on her face. "I see. I didn't consider paying refugees to silence talk of conflict."

"Two birds with one stone. We uphold the peace and order of the last utopia in the world, and potential troublemakers are bought onto our side. We call them the Copper Piece Brigade."

"Elegant. And the ones who won't take the money?"

"We can be persuaive," Long Feng says, the corner of his mouth creeping into a smirk. "Agent Beifong would doubtless protest, but guiding public opinion is necessary to protect the city."

"Of course she would," Azula agrees disdainfully. "She's the sort to care for people. But people are weak. The only thing with the power to save is power itself." She offers the Grand Secretariat a conspiratory smile. "I can see why you're head of the Dai Li."

Long Feng looks pleased. "I can't believe that Toph reincarnated into such a wise young woman."

With his guard down, his emotions are obvious—the faint contempt in the asymmetry of the upper lip, and the irrepressible delight of a successful deception.

.

.

Agent Lin Beifong stares long and hard into the mirror.

Her eyes are too dark.

Lin traces the parallel scars on her cheek, like the track of a vicious backhand, that are as old as her career with the Dai Li.

She tries to remember how she earned them.

.

.

"Joo Dee, I'd simply _love_ a tour of the most charmingly quaint parts of the Lower Ring," Azula says, taking the woman's arm in hers. Her fingers wrap around Joo Dee's wrist, pressing gently into the pulse of rushing blood. Even with the nails filed down to soft crescents, they still look like talons.

"Certainly, Avatar Azula," she says, too brightly.

She turns her focus on the rhythm of Joo Dee's heartbeat under her fingertips. "I hope you don't mind if I ask questions about the war refugees."

"Oh, you must mean the migrant laborers who have come to the great city of Ba Sing Se in search of opportunity!"

They continue to walk. Joo Dee's heart skitters like a terrified rabbit the entire time.

.

.

Ty Lee freezes in the middle of the road, and for a moment Katara's heart races with adrenaline. By reflex, she uncaps her waterskin and scans the street for enemies, but the acrobat's face breaks into a smile.

"A spa!" she cries, seizing Katara's arm. "Our auras have been so dingy lately, we need a day of relaxation!"

Katara shakes away the battle-readiness a little sheepishly as Ty Lee pulls her into the building. "... I guess you're right."

Whatever it means to have a dingy aura, Katara feels immensely better in a haze of rosewater and unending chatter. Ty Lee is surprisingly knowledgable about the most fashionable styles and explains, without a hint of condescension, why those girls were staring at Katara's hair.

Adding more rocks to the sauna, Ty Lee says, "She needs us, you know. Not just for protecting her."

She's thankful for the cloud of steam obscuring their faces. "If you say so."

"Really!" she says earnestly. "Azula doesn't have a lot of friends, but she really loves the ones she has. You shouldn't be afraid of her."

"I'm not."

Ty Lee sighs. "I totally understand if you don't like people from the Fire Nation. With all the craziness going on—"

"No, no, it's not about the war," Katara says hastily.

Someone drops a tray of towels.

.

.

Azula ignores the cell holding Katara and Ty Lee and walks straight to the front desk.

"I didn't realize you supported Long Feng's little project, Lin."

She doesn't even twitch. "The Dai Li uphold the law. Even the ones that get your friends in trouble."

Under watchful blue eyes, Azula chooses her words carefully.

"Use your vaunted seismic sense for once. People are terrified. Is that what you want?"

"I want my city to be safe."

"And ruled by Long Feng's iron fist, of course."

"Do I have to arrest you, too?"

In the cadence of her pulse beating through the ground, Azula can feel something beginning to fray.

"Just let them go," she says, backing off.

.

.

Azula sits cross-legged before a set of meditation candles and breathes. The white flames flicker with blue.

An eclipse, an invasion.

She needs to be able to strike through the mountain to the hidden bunkers below.

"I need to earthbend," she says. But stone is disgustingly immobile, stubborn, useless. Earth doesn't dance like the other elements, and it bothers her more than she lets on.

The candles burn comfortingly. Azula stares thoughtfully into the distance.

"No. I need earthbenders."

.

.

In the middle of the night, two Dai Li agents materialize on the roof above Azula's room, only to find her standing on the moonlit tiles with a knowing smile.

"I thought you'd be along," she says.

"Please come with us, Avatar," the first says, bowing.

Long Feng is waiting for them on the rim of the Outer Wall, tension written in every line of his body. He says, "Tell me how to stop that thing."

Azula glances at the Fire Nation drill steadily rasping away at the wall of Ba Sing Se and leans back casually. "What will you give me?"

.

.

"Azula, we have to do something about Long Feng," Katara says. "You know what he's up to."

Seismic sense is immensely useful for monitoring people just past line of sight. Katara's entire body tenses with nervous energy every time she's within ten feet of Azula, for no apparent reason. Pohuai Stronghold was ages ago.

It's not that it _bothers_ her, it's just inconvenient. The dark circles under Katara's eyes can't be healthy.

So Azula agrees, "He holds Ba Sing Se in his hands. This can't be allowed to continue."

Katara brightens immediately. "If we talk to the Earth King, he can have Long Feng arrested and pass control of the Dai Li to Agent Beifong."

That would work, because Lin has the loyalty of every agent she's ever trained, which is almost all of them. But it would create more problems than it would solve. Long Feng at least thinks he can manipulate her.

"You know she arrested you," she says, looking hesitant.

She bites her lip. "I trust her to do the right thing. She's a good person."

—which is exactly the problem with giving her control of Ba Sing Se. But Katara looks so _excited_ to be doing something for justice ...

Well, Long Feng's been stubborn; controlling the Council of Five would be easier without him in the way. And perhaps it's better someone like Lin Beifong be kept busy running a city, rather than poking a nose into the Avatar's doings.

"You're right," Azula says. "Let's go visit the Earth King."

.

.

She didn't know that hiding the war would ignite his righteous anger so thoroughly, but Kuei's face on seeing the remains of the Fire Nation drill is priceless.

The problem with the Earth King's naïveté, Azula realizes, is that while it makes him an easy target for Long Feng's manipulations, he's all the more outraged when even a small deception comes to light.

(_She makes a mental note to keep an eye on Katara._)

Still, Azula can't believe he's so utterly stupid as to transfer his trust to her. If she had known it would be so easy to control the Earth King, she would have overthrown Long Feng ages ago.

Lin doesn't protest when Kuei hands her all of Long Feng's former duties and titles at Azula's suggestion, but she catches her alone with a suspicious frown.

"I don't know what game you think you're playing, but if you threaten my city, I won't hesitate to bring you down."

"You'd be better off watching Long Feng," Azula says shortly. "I don't care about ruling Ba Sing Se."

Lin eyes her warily. "What do you care about?"

"The Day of Black Sun."

.

.

Zuko's unnatural calm sends alarm bells ringing in Mai's head.

"Message from Azula," he says, handing her a scroll.

She barely looks at it—expertly blended ink on silk, a clear sign of comfort—before the contents make the blood rush from her face.

"The eclipse," Mai whispers, a pang of betrayal trembling through her. "She can't give away a national secret like that."

"More importantly, we need to be ready," Zuko says, turning away. "If Azula succeeds, there's going to be an army on our shores ... and the throne will be empty."

.

.

.

.


	14. Veil

_._

_._

_(veil)_

_._

_._

"Do you really think she'll kill your—the Fire Lord?"

"Yes." They know Azula too well for the answer to be anything else.

Mai watches him carefully. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Fine," Zuko bites off, still not looking at her. "It has to be ... I always knew it would have to end this way."

_Liar_. Even now Mai can see the dimming, irrational hope in his eyes.

"There's no other option. If he's left alive—"

"_I know!_" Zuko shouts, but instantly deflates. He takes a steadying breath. "It's the Avatar's destiny. All we need to do is clear the way for her, and she'll take care of the rest."

He's never looked so unhappy about Azula's ruthless competence.

Mai slaps him.

"Get over yourself," she says flatly, and sweeps out of the room.

.

.

From memory, Azula begins to mark up the map of the Capital. With a bit of pride, she surveys the array of battlements and defenses lacing the beach; the Fire Nation is far more sophisticated than earthbenders dropping rocks from the Outer Wall.

Sokka doesn't even ask for permission before leaning in. "If the battlements are attacking from there, we should keep our forces in a wedge formation. The tanks can defend the earthbenders while they take down the battlements from a distance."

For a moment, Azula considers tearing the map away, but as he continues, she finds herself nodding.

With his leg still mending, Sokka's become restless. Giving him control of the invasion plan wouldn't be too bad. It's a much better hobby than ordering takeout or scrawling those odd squiggles he calls "art."

.

.

The Council of Five is positively thrilled by the news and immediately starts squabbling over targets in the region of total eclipse. Azula rolls her eyes and slams a hand onto the table.

"Enough, children," she says, looking at the Northern Water Tribe envoy who's finally been allowed into the palace, after being delayed by the Ministry of Culture for "six to eight" weeks. "Not in front of our guest."

She doesn't listen as Sokka lays out their plan, since every detail is already engraved into her mind. Waterbenders working in pairs to defend the invasion fleet. Targeted landslides to take out the battlements. An army descending upon the Capital. A defenseless old man awaiting the Avatar's judgement.

Then Azula realizes he's babbling about something entirely unrelated: "... and there were these two-headed fish that I ate anyway because Appa's tongue was purple but then we blew up the factory and—"

She stomps on his foot and takes over, layering menace more heavily into her tone than usual to make up for Sokka's blunder. No one dares laugh at _her_.

Later, he cringes. "I failed, didn't I? That was my moment of truth, and I blew it."

"Yes," she says flatly. At the look on his face, Azula relents. "That wasn't your moment of truth, that was just public speaking. You'll feel much better when the troops following your invasion plan are decimating the Capital's defenses."

.

.

"There's a Southern Water Tribe fleet in Chameleon Bay," Lin says, handing Sokka an intelligence report. "Your father's Hakoda, right?"

Sokka's initial shock turns to frantic joy, but Katara turns white. Her brother, not noticing, hugs her and shouts, "Dad's here! I can't believe it!"

"Tell him about the eclipse. We need ships," Azula says, watching her with a sense of unease, "and I'm sure he'll be overjoyed to see you again."

Despite his still-healing leg, Sokka practically drags his sister out of the room the moment she's finished speaking.

Azula leans into Ty Lee and says, in a low voice, "Go with them. Make sure no one gets hurt."

.

.

Lin paces before the assembled agents. She doesn't make the mistake of looking too closely at any one face, instead listening to the hum of heartbeats and breathing rates.

"I don't care what you think of Long Feng," she says shortly. "He has made an enemy of the Earth King. It won't be easy to reverse the damage he's done to our credibility."

The nice thing about the Dai Li is that they arrange themselves into orderly rows and don't fidget. Her seismic sense can read them like lines in a book.

"Our job is to protect Ba Sing Se. Not Long Feng. Not the Ministry of Culture. Not even the Earth King himself," Lin continues, catching the juddering pattern of fear and anger in the crowd. She walks slowly, triangulating the source.

"This is our home. This is our _duty_. So let me make one thing clear," she says, stopping in front of one of the older agents in the room. Long Feng's favorite, of course; how could she forget that scar?

"If I sense any disloyalty, any hesitation, any treachery at all ... _I will snuff it out_."

A bead of sweat trickles down the scarred agent's face. His pulse beats _guilty, guilty, guilty._

"Dismissed."

.

.

Lin barely looks up from her new desk when Azula steps into her office. "I don't have time to train you."

"I know that. I'm the reason you have that job." And before Lin can get any more suspicious, she adds, "I want Dai Li agents on the Day of Black Sun."

"Out of the question," Lin says. "I'm not sending agents out of the city with Long Feng's sympathizers still nursing grudges."

"I need earthbenders."

"Go ask the Council of Five."

"Everyone knows the Dai Li are the best."

They have a killer instinct that's _so_ firebender, but Azula doesn't think Lin needs to hear that.

.

.

Maybe Hakoda can sense the anxiety Katara's letting off in waves, because after he embraces them both, he immediately runs off with Sokka to explain the tangle mines. She's at once relieved and achingly jealous.

Ty Lee discreetly squeezes her hand. "You don't look too good."

"I'm fine. _Fine_."

In the dream, it had felt so wonderful: the rush of power feeding her contempt, drowning out the horrified scream in the back of her head.

Ty Lee bites her lip to stop herself from saying, "_I can read auras, you know_."

.

.

It must be Ty Lee's fault, somehow, that they end up a few feet away from one another without another soul in sight.

Before Katara can think better of it, she hits him in the face with a water whip. Her hands are shaking too much for it to hurt.

Hakoda's resigned expression suggests he's been expecting this for a long, long time. Katara refuses to look, because if she sees his hauntingly familiar eyes so beaten and tired, she won't be able to speak, let alone shout.

"How could you leave us, Dad? I mean, I know we had Gran-Gran, and she loved us, but we were just so _lost_ without you."

The admission burns like acid and she barely manages to force it out before her throat closes. The words that were so sincere in her head seem laughable in the light of day.

If he says something as trivially true as _To fight the Fire Nation_, or even a sweet lie like _To protect you_, her simmering hurt will boil over into rage.

Hakoda says, "I'm so sorry, Katara," and something painful and vicious dissolves to sobs in her chest.

Ty Lee breathes a sigh of relief when the two almost collapse into each others' arms.

.

.

"Here to gloat?"

"Just paying a visit. You seem ... surprised by recent events, to say the least."

"I thought we had an _agreement_, Avatar Azula."

"I found a better way to get what I want. I suggest you keep that in mind."

"Oh, I will."

"Behave yourself while I'm away. It would be a shame to have to depose you twice."

.

.

"We will follow your orders until our return to Ba Sing Se," the two agents promise in succession. "We will not betray you."

To Lin's amusement, Azula's eyes are closed in concentration as she reads their intentions through the ground, but after a moment, they open, gleaming with satisfaction.

"Thank you. I'll take them."

"They're good men."

"I understand." Not Long Feng's, then.

"Bring them back in one piece. That's all I ask." Her expression flicks briefly into a threat—_or else_—before softening. "I'll continue your training after you return. The way your seismic sense has improved, you'll have a breakthrough any moment."

Azula doesn't need seismic sense to read _Come back safely_.

.

.

"I hope you've left those ships intact, Chief Hakoda," says Azula, wrinkling her nose at the stench of skunk fish and seaweed. "The invasion's going to need them."

Hakoda looks almost amused by her age and commanding tone, but wisely doesn't mention it. "Katara's gone to untangle the propellers. If there's not too much damage, we'll be able to use them."

"Good. There are another five ships waiting just out of your range. I'll handle them," Azula says, already walking away.

.

.

"At least a dozen witnesses confirmed it," the war minister says nervously. "The attack on Pohuai Stronghold wasn't a rumor. Not even the ... what the Avatar did to Colonel Shinu."

They don't use her name. Ever.

The flames crackle ominously as the shadow at the end of the hall absorbs the news. The members of the war council exchange worried glances until the Fire Lord finally speaks in a voice entirely free of recognizeable emotion.

"This council meeting is dismissed."

Ozai broods in his empty chamber and deliberately tries to extinguish the flicker of pride.

.

.

_Sighting confirmed! Ready the fire lances! Aim for the aiaigghrk—_

_—kkkkhh—_

_—ssss—_

_Hello, crew of the ... let's see. The _Seraph_. This ship is now under my command. For any of you particularly attached to your captain, don't worry, he's still breathing. For now._

_Now get off of my ship._

_But first, let me make something clear. If you do something as foolish as sabotage the engines before you go, I'll be forced to do something drastic. For example, pull out the crew roster and find where your families live._

_There'd be no way to tell whose misbegotten patriotism overrode common sense, so to be fair, I'd have to hunt down every single one of you. Unfortunately. So why don't you save us all the trouble and leave quietly?_

_You have half an hour before I start electrocuting the deck._

.

.

Hakoda lets out a breath he wasn't aware of holding once Azula wanders off, looking darkly pleased with herself.

Not that he's not impressed by the captured ships, but it's a little eerie how there's no sign of a struggle.

"I can't believe the Avatar managed to hide her identity for so long," he remarks. "She's got a knack for reminding everyone else how human they are."

"I thought that was just a princess thing," Sokka says.

Hakoda pauses a moment before saying, "I know you've been traveling together for a while, but be careful. That's not a human, but a spirit, and a vengeful one at that."

_She doesn't care about people_, Katara remembers. _All she wants is to restore balance to the world, no matter what the cost._

But she also remembers the steely determination of the attack on Pohuai Stronghold, and afterward, her unguarded expression as they embraced.

So Katara says, "Azula's our friend," and leaves it at that.

.

.

"The invasion's only a distraction," Zuko says. "Azula's going straight to the underground bunkers."

"Some distraction," Toza says, for once looking worried. "She's brought the best of the Earth Army down on our heads."

"They're not going to march down into the Capital," Mai says. "Azula knows every tactic in the book; there's no way she won't see the ambush coming."

Toza frowns. "Our sources say the army's planning to take the city directly."

Zuko stills, comprehension dawning. "_Azula_," he hisses, making it almost a curse. "Of course. What better distraction than an entire invasion force wallowing straight into a trap?"

The high general looks almost offended by her disregard for the battle's outcome. "Do you think we should interfere?"

"... No. Let them see the power of the Fire Nation on the Day of Black Sun."

Toza's eyes glint approval.

.

.

Azula perches on the highest point of the _Seraph_ and lets the sea wind tangle in her hair as they make their way west.

"Everyone's auras are so bright today," Ty Lee says, dangling from the mast by her ankles, seemingly so loosely a stray wave could knock her off. "Even yours!"

"We're doing well," Azula admits. Ty Lee's antics lift her spirits, and she allows herself a satisfied smile. "The invasion is going to be exactly as planned."

.

.

Lin doesn't make a sound as she tails the scarred agent to Long Feng's cell. She waits long enough to overhear a scattered conversation before interrupting it with a sudden rock to the back of his head. The echoes tell her there's nothing suspicious in the area, so she nudges aside the unconscious agent with her foot and retrieves her rock glove.

Too easy, like everything else. She's missing something.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says. "I hope you weren't plotting anything."

"What a shame," he says sarcastically. His pulse hums contempt, resentment and ... confidence?

"In case you were wondering, I'm not stupid enough to carry the keys with me."

Long Feng only laughs.

"Something funny?"

"Lin," he says, eyes dancing with amusement, "the Earth King has invited you to Lake Laogai."

.

.

She suddenly remembers how she got her scars.

.

.

"_I am honored to accept his invitation_."

.

.

.

.


	15. Steel

.

.

_(steel)_

_._

_._

"Are you ready to face him?" Katara asks, curiosity and concern brimming in her blue eyes. Azula sighs and continues to stare into her mediation candles.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she says stiffly. "Water and air will be more than enough to defeat Ozai. Without firebending, he's just a man."

As expected, Katara bites her lip nervously before saying, "He's your father."

"I'm aware."

Hesitantly, she says, "It doesn't bother you ... ?"

Azula lets the flames leap raggedly as if with a surge of defensiveness. "Of course it bothers me!" she snaps, meeting her eyes with the slightest bit of panic. "But I don't owe him anything. I hate him. He took my mother away from me."

"Azula ..." she breathes.

"I'm going to take him down. That's all there is to it."

"You're ... really brave," Katara says. "But you don't have to do this alone. We can help—"

"You can stay with the main force as planned," Azula says, pouring as much emotion into the words as possible. "This is something I have to do alone. _Please_."

Katara looks shocked by the uncharacteristic force of Azula's words. "Of course," she murmurs, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I know you can do it."

"Thank you," Azula replies, giving her just enough eye contact to make the moment genuine, then turning back to her candles pensively.

The waterbender slips away in time to miss the irrepressible shift in Azula's expression.

.

.

Northern Water Tribe canoes dart out with preternatural speed, too quickly for the defenders to track—one waterbender providing propulsion, two others crippling the rows of Fire Navy battleships.

Azula looses a wild, harsh laugh as she and Katara tear a gaping rent below the waterline, an attack designed to flood as many chambers as possible.

They weave through the ships, agile and untouchable, with a feeling of pure power as the massive ships begin to sink.

.

.

The lip of the caldera is dotted with jagged outcroppings and defensive positions, and this particular stretch is far enough from the bay to serve as the civilians' evacuation point. Despite the seriousness of the situation, they don't seem worried; a sort of amiable peace settles over them.

"This would be a nice place for a picnic," Mai murmurs from her vantage point. "Except for all the people ruining it."

Zuko laughs. "You're so beautiful when you hate the world."

"I don't hate you."

"I don't hate you, too."

.

.

Long Feng stands up from his meditative position and looks closely into Lin's dilated pupils.

"It's about time for your retraining. Go to the correctional facility. Secure yourself and wait there quietly."

"Yes, sir."

The entire right half of her face is burning.

.

.

"_We don't usually accept women, but we—I'd like to make an exception. With the war effort, our forces have been streched thin_."

"_I'm going to fight the Fire Nation with the army. Sorry to disappoint_,"_ Lin says, not sorry at all._

_The spike in his heartrate doesn't warn her in time to dodge the vicious backhand from his stone glove. Stars explode behind her eyes as her jaw dislocates._

_"Apology accepted," Long Feng says, as she passes out._

.

.

Waterbenders work best in pairs, in remembrance of the endless dance of Tui and La. Or, from a more practical perspective, to produce the shift from negative to positive jing that characterizes the most powerful waterbending.

They don't try to move in perfect tandem. The seawater that passes between them runs a lopsided circuit.

But when Azula digs in to give a particularly forceful push, Katara pulls the attack in an arc around her and redirects it straight into the Great Gates of Azulon.

The burning chains fall apart like wet paper.

.

.

Lin is only vaguely aware that her feet are moving over damp metal grates. Everything wavers, as if under water.

_Secure yourself and wait there quietly._

Her hands tighten metal bands around her wrists and neck. The locks shut with a click that echoes unbearably in her throbbing head.

Lin sits silently until the slow drip of lake water is the only thing she can hear. Every shape in the dark room sways sluggishly.

One image remains steady in her vision, which is troubling, because she's fairly certain it's not real.

A lamp, running a perfectly circular circuit.

.

.

"_What a shame,_"_ he muses, peering at the bleeding gouges on her chin._ "_It'll leave a mark, but you left me no choice_."

"_I'll leave a mark on you_," _Lin snarls, thrashing furiously against the cuffs securing her to the chair. Her jaw throbs with every word, but she's too angry to care._ "_If you think this is going to make me join the Dai Li, you're even more of an idiot than I thou—_"

_Her tirade ends in a strangled scream as Long Feng seizes her chin._

"_You'd protect this city with your life. And everyone knows you still resent your mother. I think 'Dai Li Agent Lin Beifong' has a nice ring to it, don't you?_"

"_... won't ... follow your orders ... scumbag_," _she gasps, choking on the blood trickling into her mouth._

_Long Feng only laughs and steps behind the circular track._ "_Yes, you will._"

.

.

"Stay together and don't do anything stupid," Azula says, hanging behind the front lines.

"Good luck," Sokka says grimly. Katara gives her a reassuring nod.

"Azula doesn't need luck," Ty Lee corrects, helping the two siblings climb onto Appa's back. She grins confidently as she adds, "And neither do we. Yip yip!"

Once they're soaring through the chaos, arcs of water slicing through trebuchets and projectiles, Azula turns to a pair of soldiers who move with far too much deadly precision to be mere Earth Army recruits.

"Meet me on the ridge," she orders, deploying her glider with a snap.

As her lightning begins to arc through the air with devastating and eye-catching effect, her Dai Li agents slip away from the main force unnoticed.

.

.

Once the eclipse hits, word spreads quickly among the Home Guard that the Water Tribe warriors are taking prisoners.

The Earth Army isn't.

.

.

"Why did they have to come this way?" Mai growls, watching the Home Guard fend off a wave of Earth Army soldiers. In the distance, smoke rises from burning war machines. "When's the counter-attack?"

"Not soon enough." Zuko doesn't need a timer to know when the sun will come back, not with every particle of his body screaming for the hidden light. There's nothing else for it. "We can delay them for another few minutes," he says, unsheathing his swords and stepping out.

Mai twirls her knives and follows. "Troublesome."

As it turns out, Shen's troops don't mind accepting help from branded traitors. Not with a city of civilians at their backs.

.

.

"Don't let them get behind you," Mai snaps, as a disarmed soldier tries to tackle Zuko. Needles fly, and the man drops.

"There's too many!"

Mai hurls a knife into a man's throat with surprising force and doesn't even flinch as the blood sprays her sleeve. "Well, there's an obvious solution to that, now, isn't there?"

The look of shock lasts only for a moment before Zuko abruptly stops fighting with the flats of his blades.

.

.

Azula swings her half-opened glider hard, hurling the clustered soldiers off the cliff. She ignores their harsh screams and uses the staff to scratch a mark into the side of the mountain. "Tunnel down here."

"Yes ma'am," the Dai Li agents say, clearing the path to her father with efficient movements. Their faces are indifferent, but their excited heartbeats betray them. Hunting down the Fire Lord must be a thousand times more interesting than chasing political dissenters.

"Good work."

Azula almost sighs as they make their way to the underground bunker. She might have given away the eclipse and Sozin's Comet without regret, but some things should stay Fire Nation secrets.

It's a shame they'll have to die. She rather likes having her own Dai Li agents.

.

.

A hazy shape appears in front of her.

Long Feng says, "Thank you for your patience."

Pure loathing courses through her with surprising force. Her arms shake with the desire to lunge at him.

"Don't worry, Lin," he says, gently brushing a few strands of hair from her face. She forces down the urge to vomit. "Soon you'll be _harmonized_, and this troubling incident will be nothing but a missing memory."

_Something is missing_, screams the overwhelming hatred clawing its way up her throat. _Remember—_

.

.

"_I'll have my men back soon enough_," _Long Feng says lightly._ "_The war in the west is going to end. Very soon._"

_Lin finds her voice again, despite the pain racing through her jaw like lightning._ "_Mom's going to tear the Fire Nation apart,_" _she shouts,_ "_and when she's done, she'll come back here and—_"

"_You misunderstand_," _he says, smiling. The lamp begins to whirl._ "_She's not coming back_."

.

.

When her slicing water finally destroys the locking mechanism, Azula steps into the Fire Lord's bunker to find someone else waiting for her.

Commander Cho, her _(not)_ memory supplies her, before Azula remembers he was promoted the year she was born. "High General, what an unpleasant surprise," she says, hands itching to hold lightning. "Where's Ozai?"

His response puzzles her.

"Lake Laogai is in the Earth Kingdom, you clod," Azula says, but something about the situation sets her teeth on edge.

_(bloodless lying traitors, I should have known, should have felt their pulses, why couldn't I—)_

Faster than reflex, Azula darts to the side just in time to dodge two wickedly sharp earth spikes.

_(steel sliding into her back)_

She stares at her Dai Li agents in disbelief, but they're already moving with beautiful, deadly efficiency.

.

.

Lin exhales shakily, surging emotion driving away the trance. Suddenly her body is her own again—not that it does any good with cold metal encasing her wrists.

"You," she hisses, in a voice that should have killed him twice over for sheer venom. "_You. killed. my. mother_."

"Toph never saw it coming," Long Feng says. With a confident laugh, he adds, "She should have known better than to try to command me."

Something explodes in Lin's head, followed by the scream of shearing steel.

Long Feng barely has time to look shocked before he's pinned to the ground by merciless bands—the remains of her restraints. The metal floor curls malevolently around him and begins to tighten.

She struggles to her feet, panting with rage. The lamp frame collapses into a crumpled ball of iron and glass as she advances.

"Fourteen _years_, you slimy piece of—"

"Impossible," he gasps. Steel claws press around Long Feng's ribcage as she leans in.

"I am the greatest earthbender in the world," Lin says. "And don't you ever forget it."

Behind her, the chair crumples, metal limbs contorted as if in agony.

.

.


	16. Revenge

.

.

_(revenge)_

.

.

"Looks like the firebending's back on," Azula says, shaking the blood and dust out of her hair. Fire bursts to life at her fingertips like an old friend.

Explosions are immensely more effective against stone defenses than water and air, and once they're off-balance, even Dai Li agents are hardly fast enough to react to the crackle of electricity.

Azula steps through the sharp tang of ozone with a breathless, sharp-edged smile that's more bloodlust and fury than anything else.

"Don't go, High General," she calls, standing in front of the only exit. Actinic sparks dance over her fingertips. "We have so much to discuss."

.

.

Zuko feels his inner fire awaken with the sun, and releases the sudden spike of energy in a burst of fire.

Simultaneously, the remnants of the Home Guard have the same idea, and they watch half-horrified as an entire wall of flame surges over the unprepared soldiers.

"The counter-attack is starting," Mai comments, putting away her knives as men, engulfed in fire, scream and turn tail. The others start to retreat just as the first airships lift up over the ridge.

The Home Guard captain approaches, and Zuko shifts into a defensive position, but he only bows and says, "Thank you, Your Highness."

.

.

It's not enough.

She came here looking to kill Ozai and the pulsing, trembling energy still hasn't left. She needs something to destroy the memory of steel in her back.

Azula doesn't want to trawl this bunker looking for her father. If he's even here, he'll have an entire regiment of Imperial Firebenders with him, and she knows she can't fight those numbers in narrow corridors.

She knows she shouldn't risk it.

_But she needs to_, screams every tense muscle in her body, so Azula moves through the underground passages like a wraith. More and more people are venturing out of their hiding places, like the sun cresting past the darkness.

Azula takes them down with brutal efficiency, but the gnawing feeling only grows.

.

.

Sokka's first reaction is awe and _How did they build that?_ and_ Could I have one?_

But as they drift malevolently over the invasion force, dropping bombs, he begins to feel dread. His plan is coming apart at the seams—he never could have expected these giant floating war machines. Distant explosions and screams fill the air as they glide forward, untouchable.

And when the hidden Fire Army sweeps down from the rim of the caldera, bent on recovering their city, there's only one thing to do.

"Retreat!" he yells, turning towards the bay. Hakoda, leaning heavily on his son, signals to his men without even questioning. Something warm blooms in Sokka's stomach.

It turns to ice when he glances behind him and sees the Earth Army turning streets and buildings into fortress walls.

"You have to retreat!" Sokka shouts, voice cracking at exactly the wrong moment, but when no one listens he realizes his mistake.

The Earth Army doesn't listen to teenagers, even if the teenager in question came up with the plan in the first place, even the battlefield is lost. The commanders have their orders, and for the love of Oma and Shu, they'll follow them with a tenacity that might be admirable.

They're going to try to hold the city, and when they can't, they'll make the Fire Nation pay for every street in blood.

.

.

Before the tell-tale design of his helmet consciously registers in Azula's mind, she's already passed a splinter of ice through the man's carotid.

The rest of the Royal Procession sweeps around the corner and attacks her without flinching: a wave of disciplined, concentrated fire she counters with another—no, there's no room; she has to split it around her instead. An inferno roars around her on both sides, but through the heat haze she can see the glint of the royal crown.

He's here.

Adrenaline surges through her. One hand still parting the flames, the other makes an elegant motion as the last of her water wavers in front of her like a coiling snake. She launches it in a crescent arc through the flames, where it vaporizes almost immediately, a wasted attack.

Azula smiles in the face of their contempt.

Air-of-water is an unexpected and invisible weapon in her hands; there's a moment of beautiful shock on the guards' faces before they crumple to the floor. With suicidal loyalty, the Imperial Firebenders still in the passageway rush forward to meet her, only to stop at the Fire Lord's signal.

Azula stands tensely still. Against every screaming instinct, she waits for her father to speak.

"You've become powerful," Ozai says, glancing down at the remains of his men. She can read him perfectly now, down to the vibration that betrays his jealousy.

"Scared?"

_No, he's not_, the ground says, and she suppresses a smirk. He thinks he can win—_underestimate me, will you, Father?_

"No. On the contrary," Ozai says, with the soft, deliberate voice of a hunter, "I'm very proud of you."

She starts to laugh before every nonverbal tic and tremor in the earth tells her, _He's not lying._

Azula turns white as a sheet. A ringing sound plumes in her ears.

_... Father?_

Behind her, Ursa grabs her wrist and whispers, "_Run, Azula._"

Lightning shatters the space, but Azula's already vanished.

.

.

Katara and Ty Lee are holding the path back to the shore when something like a meteor strikes the ground, scattering their attackers. Azula lands in a flair of paper wings, a half-panicked expression on her face instead of her usual smirk.

"What happened?"

"He wasn't there." Azula hurls a bolt of lightning that dissolves into sparks and smoke before even reaching the nearest airship. "It was a lie."

She looks down at her hands with disgust. A stray spark crackles over her finger, leaving an ugly blister.

"They were expecting us," Ty Lee murmurs, downcast. "You couldn't have known."

They watch helplessly as the airships begin to bombard their fleet to scrap.

.

.

By the shore, waterbenders and soldiers work frantically to cobble together evacuation boats, giving Azula a wide berth. She doesn't seem to notice them, but the poisonous aura she exudes repels them instinctively.

"I could have taken him," Azula insists, hugging her knees with a scowl. Mother only sighs and keeps stroking her hair.

She clenches her hands hard to still the shaking. "I would have done it," she promises. "You know I would."

"_You think you're so powerful_," Mother murmurs. "_All of your new skills ... even your bloodbending. But we've learned a valuable lesson today, haven't we, sweetheart?_"

"I am powerful," she insists. "I can—I can hurt people—make them scream—"

"_This is the only place you can really hurt someone_," Ursa says, and presses a long-nailed hand to her chest.

_(I'm very proud of you.)_

Azula buries her head in her arms and tries to crush the warmth out of her heart.

.

.

Ty Lee lingers on the upper path, half to watch for pursuit, and half to indulge the hope that—

"Long time no see."

Ty Lee blinks in surprise at the shadow crossing her face. "Mai!"

A smile flits across her narrow features as she returns the acrobat's hug. "Hey, you."

"I missed you so much," she says, sinking into her arms without a care for the suspicious dark stains on the sleeves. "Come with us?"

"Thanks for the offer, but there's work to do," Mai says quietly. "How much, depends on how the invasion went. Did Azula ... ?"

The look on her face gives the answer away even before she shakes her head. Ty Lee points down the cliff at a small figure crouching in the sand. "I guess she's sad because she couldn't find him."

"I wouldn't call it that," Mai says, raising an eyebrow. "Homicidal, maybe. She's probably trying not to kill everyone in sight."

"That would be nice of her, wouldn't it?" Ty Lee's expression turns wistful as she looks down at the bay. "But I can tell. She's sad."

.

.

When Appa rises high enough that they can take in the entire island at a glance, the Earth Army's predicament becomes as clear as the caldera itself—a patch of green entirely surrounded by red uniforms, the entire sector writhing with dust and flame as armies exchange blows.

The inevitable conclusion is only obvious.

_The Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation will remember this day with trembling_, Azula thinks, pleased. _The war will turn desperate with terror, and they'll do anything I say, anything at all._

Katara's gasp of horror is expected, but what takes Azula by surprise is the nausea that makes her double over, vision spinning, her head threatening to split in two.

"_You_," says Toph murderously, and hit with a crippling pain behind her eyes, Azula crumples to the floor. "_Get back there right now or I will make you._"

Of its own accord, her hand reaches for her glider before Azula blinks and twitches it back.

"Don't want to," she says, hearing her own voice as if from a great distance.

Toph glowers. "_I'll make you want to_," the old woman says, pressing a hand over Azula's heart that burns with star-fire and moonlight and—

_They are your people, the sons of your country; they protected you in the war and said _My daughter is waiting for me_ and you said _Mine isn't_._

_They are dying in the dust and the haze of a dream you gave them._

_They are afraid—_

Something is ripping in half in her chest, all fury and despair and more guilt than she's ever felt in her life. Azula picks up her glider.

.

.

"Stop."

Sokka's hand is sticky with blood, and Azula's wrist looks as pale and brittle as bone in his grasp.

"I have to go back," Azula says, shaking. "You don't understand—they're afraid."

"I know, believe me," he says, gently pulling her away from the edge. "But there's nothing you can do for them except regroup and live to fight another day."

She looks very young and lost as she collapses into the saddle. Quietly, almost to herself, she says, "You can't make me," and takes a deep breath, like surfacing from underwater.

"Don't be ridiculous," Katara says, touching her shoulder, but she's already turned away.

.

.

She doesn't shift her gaze from the clouds passing by, but Azula can sense Katara's hesitant prescence behind her.

"It's going to be okay."

"Of course. There's still plenty of time before the comet," she says, rolling her eyes.

"That's not what I meant," Katara says, frustrated. "You don't ... you don't have to be perfect all the time. No one's perfect."

"_I_ am," Azula says, turning away without another word.

To her complete surprise, a cloud coalesces and catches her hard with a blast of water, almost throwing her off the sky bison's back. Appa roars in panic, bucking the other riders, but Azula only stares at Katara with wide eyes.

"I'm trying to help, you ungrateful brat," she snarls, fists tight. "Stop acting like you're so much better than us."

"I'm not acting," Azula says, steam rising from her drenched clothes.

The waterbender makes a choked-off sound of rage and shouts, "You might be the Avatar, but you're still just a person! I don't have to take this from you, you murdering, Fire Nation scum."

Sokka turns white and backs away. "Sis, you might not wanna—"

Azula looses an unsteady cackle and lunges, her hands wreathed in electricity. In an instant, she's pinned to the floor by a trembling Ty Lee.

"Let go of me," Azula says, unblinking yellow eyes not leaving Katara's.

"Stop," Ty Lee begs, fingers gripping her pressure points, but not yet pressing. "I think you're confused. Don't do this."

Sokka says cautiously, "Guys, I think we all just need to calm down and try really hard not to kill anyone, please?"

In the same cold, flat voice, Azula says, "I _knew_ you couldn't be trusted. Everyone betrays—"

"Don't be stupid!" yells Katara. "_Friends_ tell each other when they're being miserable excuses for human beings - but maybe you don't want friends. You just want servants, you stuck-up, spoiled—"

She yelps, swallowing the last word as Appa roars and dodges a fireball. Black ships cut through the water towards them, more projectiles blazing through the air.

Ty Lee says, "Sokka, grab the reins and get us out of here!" and doesn't even stop to watch him scramble for the sky bison's head before she turns back to Azula.

"I know you're upset, but it's a really bad time to lose control," she says. "If I let you up, are you going to be—Katara, what are you_ doing?_"

She dives off Appa's back without a second glance. Ty Lee's scream falters when the ocean arcs up to welcome her, flawless waterbending technique propelling her towards the leading ship too quickly to track.

"Sea ravens," Sokka says distantly.

Azula wriggles out of Ty Lee's grip enough to follow his gaze. The ships' flags ripple in the wind, and something connects in her mind.

"_The Southern Raiders_," Hama whispers.

Below them, a massive wave surges over the deck, washing away the soldiers, as Katara runs towards the bridge with crystal focus.

.

.

The commander of the Southern Raiders lies helpless and crumpled against the wall. Spears of ice pierce through his armor to the metal wall behind him and cut red gouges through his skin.

Azula steps into the room with a faint tinge of approval. It's a pretty picture, even if her accuracy could use work. Mai would never be sloppy enough to draw blood.

Katara lies huddled in the opposite corner, weeping. "It's not him," she whispers. "I can't believe I ... but I thought ... the _sea ravens_ -"

She yelps when Azula kicks the commander in the stomach. "You're the leader of the Southern Raiders. There was an attack six years ago. Talk."

He gulps and tries to squirm away. "You must be looking for Yon Rha. He retired four years ago."

"Excellent," Azula says, looking at Katara, who stands shakily. "Don't let go of that feeling yet. There's still a hunt waiting."

"What do you care?" she snarls bitterly, brushing away the tears. There's something very strange and sharp in her eyes; Azula's not sure she likes it.

She lets the right answer form in her head before saying, "I was from the Southern Water Tribe, once. They killed me. Let's go."

.

.

Stiffly, Azula says, "I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. I shouldn't have tried to hit you."

"I meant everything I said," Katara says, still tense, but she adds, quietly, "Except maybe the murdering Fire Nation scum part."

An involuntary smile tilts Azula's lips. "If it makes you feel better, you're going to cleanse the world of some real murdering Fire Nation scum today."

Something in the return smile reminds her of a twisted mirror.

.

.

Azula doesn't trust her _(erratic, weak, unbalanced)_ lightning in this downpour, but it only takes a little fire to intimidate the old man. Pathetic. Katara ignores his blubbering and stalks up to him.

The rain hums with her rage.

"Do you know who I am?"

"No. I don't remember."

"Oh, you better remember me like your life depends on it!" Katara hisses, seizing him by the throat. "Why don't you take a closer look?"

A delicious moment passes as slow recognition spreads across his face. Yon Rha trembles and rasps, "Yes, yes! I remember you now. You're that little Water Tribe girl."

"I'm not that helpless little girl anymore," she says coldly.

_(I am powerful. I can—I can hurt people—make them scream—)_

Azula watches, silent and strangely disturbed.

"She lied to you." Katara drops him with disgust and turns away. "She was protecting the last waterbender."

Yon Rha's mud-splattered face slackens with shock. "What? Who?"

The rain stops in midair as she whirls to face him, eyes like livid blue fire.

"_Me!_"

_(I'm afraid I'm not taking prisoners today.)_

A thousand shining ice daggers fly with unerring grace.

.

.

"Well, at least one person got to avenge their mother."

Katara doesn't reply.

.

.

.

.


	17. Follow

_._

_._

_(follow)_

_._

_._

Katara collapses into her brother's arms, and for once she looks younger than him as she sobs into his shoulder.

"... I think she ... we made a mistake," Azula admits carefully. "I thought justice would make her feel better, but—"

"What you did wasn't justice."

Indignation flares in her throat, but the look on Sokka's face makes her falter. He says, "Back off," in a level, perfectly-controlled voice, while the ground crawls with his suppressed anger.

Azula backs off.

.

.

High General Toza looks shaken.

"Your sister killed half the war council," he says.

Zuko smiles ruefully. "That's our Azula."

He doesn't seem to register his words. "She _killed_—"

"This is good news," Mai interrupts. "Take the opportunity to get your men in power, and the Fire Nation is as good as ours."

.

.

Her candles burn agitated orange, but her disorder seems only to strengthen the young voice that carries across a century.

"_The monks used to say that revenge is like a two-headed rat viper_," Aang says mournfully. "_While you watch your enemy go down, you're being poisoned yourself_."

"That's cute, but this isn't Air Temple preschool," Azula snaps, glaring at the young monk. "I don't know what's wrong with Katara."

"_Revenge is wrong_," he says, with conviction. "_You can ask her why, once she's ready to talk to you again_."

Azula twitches at the very suggestion. "If you're not willing to hurt the people who hurt you and yours—look at what happened to the Air Nomads."

Her flesh briefly crawls with comet-fire; a flash of pain passes over their faces simultaneously.

"Hurt, didn't it, when they killed you and everyone you knew?" Azula says viciously. "I'm the Avatar now. I'm going to bring justice."

"_You just want to hurt them_," the boy says, eyes impossibly knowing. "_You want to stand on the Palace steps and watch it burn._"

Under a comet-bright sky, there could be nothing better than a cleansing fire. Azula smiles.

But he doesn't stop. "_You want to look your father in the face when he knows that he's beaten_," Aang says, "_but you won't want to kill him_."

The candles flare wildly. "You know nothing."

She tunes her mind to a perfectly still place, and the boy vanishes into mist as her candles fade to cold, calculating blue.

Then the flames suddenly blaze orange again, and Aang taps her on the shoulder.

"_I know that you remembered love where you thought there was only hatred_," he says, in a voice far too old for his face, "_and love never dies._"

.

.

Yon Rha's ugly, wrinkled face stirs every hateful impulse she's ever felt, until she can hardly contain the force of her emotion.

"Please," he gasps, "take my mother instead! That would be fair."

Katara lifts a hand in revulsion. "You don't deserve to live."

"No!_ Please!_"

Under the eye of the full moon, she laughs a strangely familiar wild laugh, and takes her time.

.

.

Seismic sense is turning out to be more burdensome than she'd thought.

All night, she sits uncomfortably awake, listening to the trembling from Katara's mat.

She makes violent convulsive motions in her sleep, until one large enough to tear her awake, heart racing thunderous through the earth. There's a pause for breath before she shudders for what seems like hours. The ground describes her every sob with excruciating detail.

Azula stares at the moon and marvels at the perfect silence of her weeping.

.

.

"Father."

Lanzi glances up, mild surprise replacing his troubled expression. "Mai—after revealing yourself to dozens of witnesses, you're stepping within fifty feet of the Palace?"

"They won't see me."

There's a familiar flat, stubborn set to her features that tells him there's no point protesting, so Lanzi asks, "Why are you here?"

Mai draws the curtains. "Azula attacked the Fire Lord."

His face darkens. "I only saw the aftermath. I'm no tactician, but from what I could tell ..."

"She ran away," Mai finishes, finding the confirmation in his eyes.

Her father nods slowly. In the dusty shadows of the room, he says, "They might not be able to do it."

"I'm not worried," she says, turning away. "If there's anything we can count on, it's Azula's ability to hold a grudge."

.

.

"We should join Dad," Sokka says. "We can make the rendezvous if we leave now."

Katara frowns distantly. "I think we're needed here."

He glances quickly over his shoulder and mutters, "_I_ think we need to get out of here."

"You mean get away from Azula."

"She's not safe. After what she did to you—"

"_Don't_," Katara warns tautly. "I ... that's different. _I'm_ responsible, not her."

Wisely, Sokka backtracks. "Look what she did to her own people."

"Of course it bothers her, but Azula knows she's doing the right thing," Katara insists, without knowing why. "It's not her fault she was born to the enemy. What matters is what she's doing now."

"What she's doing now?" Sokka says, throwing his hands into the air. "Her invasion plan cost thousands of lives!"

More sharply than necessary, she says, "You mean _your_ invasion plan."

His expression freezes in shock before dropping to the ground.

"That might be true," he says quietly. Turning to face her with hard, wet eyes, he says, "But if she knew about the eclipse—if she knew about _every_ last battlement—then there's no way she couldn't have known about the ambush."

_(I did this.)_

.

.

"You can't do this forever," Azula hisses, wiping the bile from her mouth. Her entire body trembles with nausea. "I don't care about them—I don't want to."

It hurts.

Toph says, "_I know_," looking at her with infuriating pity.

.

.

"You're right," Katara says, half reluctant, half relieved. "There's something ... wrong with her."

Sokka sighs, "Finally, you agree with me," but she's not finished.

"No. That's why we have to stay."

.

.

She hurls the last of Toph's clouding influence to the ground in triumph, gasping for breath. _Hama will understand_, Azula thinks blindly, instinctively. _She's always understood best. We're kindred spirits, you and I—_

"_The Avatar has certain duties_," she says, ragged parka floating in the wind. Her eyes are a delightedly sharp blue as she twists the knife. "_You are a fool to run from them. You think you're escaping, when you're only failing_."

_I'm not the Avatar, I'm the Princess of the Fire Nation,_ her heart roars, but the blow pierces to the hilt. The blade cuts deeper with every lie she tells herself.

_I'm not a failure._

_I'm not._

.

.

Mai twirls her knives, head bowed in thought, as her father glances out past the heavy drapery into the moonlit street.

"I don't like having to react to whatever Azula does," she finally says. "With so much chaos in the upper ranks, we need to move quickly. This is the perfect time. We can't wait for her."

"The prince is hardly capable of fighting Ozai," Lanzi remarks. "Nor Iroh. I doubt we have a choice."

"You'd be surprised," she says. In the polished steel, her eyes gleam.

.

.

"You're not supposed to be here," she says, but Koh only laughs as he ripples from nothing with a disconcertingly familiar clicking, a sound like deathwatch beetles on sleepless nights.

"_The Avatar calls—who cannot answer? The Avatar falls—who cannot watch?_" he says, with the smooth cadence of adage. "_You wanted me._"

She thinks rather than speaks, but Koh hears anyway:_ I am too many people._

Hard claws tremble with excitement and the spirit's entire form warps as if bristling with hidden teeth. "_I can take the Avatar away,_" he promises, gazing hungrily at her. "_Bones picked clean, but not a sliver scratched. You're just a Princess underneath._"

"Is that so?" Azula murmurs.

Koh nods, soft face displayng only kindness. "_No need to suck the marrow, not with a feast of flesh._"

Azula leans close; her hand is warm and surprisingly gentle on the glossy black carapace. Something about Koh's almond eyes and long dark hair whispers Water Tribe.

_The Avatar is their friend, but they have only hate to offer the Fire Princess_, something says quietly.

Without shifting a muscle, Azula says, "I don't think so," and shatters his image with a bolt of white fire.

.

.

She didn't mean to stop so near the coast, but Appa was tired, and she didn't think of it until later, but now it's all Azula can do to keep from screaming aloud, much less go to sleep.

_They're going to leave me,_ she thinks numbly. _They'll have enough money for passage if they steal. They'll set off under cover of night and never look back. The tide will take them away._

She doesn't control Hakoda, so she can't threaten them into following her. But if she's completely honest with herself, Azula thinks about Katara after Yon Rha and something deep in her says, _I don't want them to look at me like that._

_(Even you fear me. You think I'm a monster.)_

"Can't sleep?" Ty Lee asks, stepping light as air.

In reply, Azula sits up. The fire pit blazes to life on the sand. "Maybe," she finally says, looking away.

"I'm here," she says, scooting close and putting a hand on her shoulder, the kind of sentimental thing only Ty Lee could do without seeming insincere.

Azula laughs, soft and strangely self-loathing. "Why?"

"I don't understand."

"You could leave, you know. I don't ... I don't _need_ you."

Ty Lee tilts her head, almost uncomprehending. "You're trying to save the world. You're the most perfect person I ever met. I like being with you. You're my friend."

Almost uncomprehending, but not quite, and Azula catches the hesitation in her cloud-gray eyes.

"There's something wrong with me, isn't there?" Azula says to the flames, afraid to look the other girl in the face.

"Yes."

She looks up, half surprised and half hurt, but Ty Lee continues, "You're the bravest person I know. You can fight it."

Which is patently stupid, because it suggests she _wants_ to change herself, but Azula only hugs her knees in silence, and listens to the sound of Sokka's wide-awake heartbeat trying to pulse inconspicuously.

.

.

"Back to gloat?" Azula says darkly. "Or maybe you just want to scold me some more?"

Toph is unmoved. "_Whiny brat. Since you don't seem to take a hint, I'm giving you fair warning._"

"Of what?"

"_You've met Koh_."

She doesn't flinch. "I'm not afraid of him."

"_You should be. He plays by the rules._"

"I know, I know, don't show emotion, got it," Azula says impatiently, but the old woman only looks tired.

"_Not those rules. _The_ rules. The Balance_," she says. "_Not that I ever cared for rules, but spirits ... don't mess with them. Why do you think Avatar Kuruk's trapped roaming the Spirit World, mad with despair?_"

The face of the woman with sad eyes and long hair lights in her mind, and the answer is obvious. "To kill Koh."

Again that troubling pity. "_He'll never make it, the moron, but he never would lie down and accept his punishment. The Avatar has certain duties, and if you neglect them, Koh will come and take what he pleases._"

There are some Things that can't be bargained with.

Toph pokes her hard on the forehead. "_And just so you know, ancient spirits don't care if you're sorry._"

.

.

The Earth Kingdom town bristles with hatred.

With perfect composure, Azula selects the few supplies they need, pays triple the going price, and leaves. Someone spits loudly behind her, but she doesn't look back.

Later, she snarls with helpless fury as her lightning chokes and collapses. Again and again she drives painful blasts into the cliffs, ignoring the rebounding sparks. She imagines the hollow eyes of the villagers and the word on the tips of their tongues.

_(monster)_

She incinerates the memory with an explosion that gouges into rock and sends arcs of chained lightning up her arms. A faint sound squeezes past her gritted teeth as she lifts her hand to try again, but her expression remains closed.

She must be perfect.

The world needs her to be—

"That's enough," Sokka says, forcing her wrist down to her side. A stray spark leaps between them, searing an angry red mark into his skin, but he doesn't so much as wince.

"They don't care if you're sorry," she says abruptly.

He gives her an inscrutable look before saying, "Don't be stupid. You're not sorry."

.

.

For the first time in weeks, Katara looks Azula straight in the eye, making her nerves buzz tensely.

Flatly, she says, "You're a monster."

Azula almost recoils, but the long years of practice hold every expressive muscle held perfectly loose. The hammering of her pulse gives her away, but she doesn't know that.

"And so what if I am?" she says, challenging.

"You're human, too." Katara presses a cool hand to the electric burns striping Azula's forearms. "You could stand to be human a little more often."

She watches in silence as the healing sets in.

.

.

.

.


	18. Reign

_._

_._

_(reign)_

_._

_._

Her lieutenant hovers outside her office, making sure that no one can catch a glimpse of the line of Dai Li agents waiting to speak to the Grand Secretariat.

"Agent Lu—Lu, listen," Lin says urgently, taking his head in her hands. "Come on. Think about home—focus!"

The young man stares blankly into space, eyes dilated, and seems puzzled. "Madam Secretariat?"

"Yes, that's me," she says, letting herself sink back into the chair. "Lu. Fight this."

"Anything you wish, ma'am," Lu says obediently.

.

.

"Almost the entire war council is ours," Toza announces, stepping into the darkened room. "We'll have the numbers to fight the loyalists, if it comes to that."

Zuko looks grim as he offers the general a seat and teacup. "There's been enough death on our shores."

"Certainly. Your sister is unfit," Toza says with a derisive snort, swirling his ginseng oolong tea.

Something about his tone strikes Zuko as strange, but he only shrugs and says, "She's the Avatar," as if it explained everything.

As if it excused anything.

"If she had not been," he muses, "perhaps she would have taken the throne."

They share a moment of silent unease.

.

.

"Tell the general I'm busy," Lin growls, barely lifting her head from her desk. The edge of a sheaf of reports is imprinted into her cheek.

A rustle of whispers at the door, then:

"King Bumi's withdrawn his forces from the offensive."

At first, she's not quite sure what it means—she was never meant to run a kingdom, for spirits' sake—but as the sleep clears, Lin's mouth narrows to a flat line. She might not know war, but she knows law, and ... "That's treason."

There's a polite pause before her lieutenant says delicately, "General, may I have a word with my commander in private?"

The door clicks shut.

"There's no place for a civil war here and you know it."

"Bumi has no right to turn on the Earth King," she says stubbornly. Ba Sing Se has never profited from maniacs running amok, and the Earth Kingdom should be no different. "If he gets away with this, the other city-states will follow suit."

"The city-states are vassal in name only, and to be honest, the last offensive devastated our troops. The only way to handle this peacefully is—"

"Oh, for crying out loud, do whatever you think is best."

As the door opens again, Lin thinks briefly that this kind of delegation was precisely how the Earth King became such a powerless figurehead, but having never wanted power in the first place, she can't bring herself to care.

.

.

"That's enough, Joo Dee. Please come back tomorrow," Lin says quietly, opening the door. The twitchy young woman smiles too widely and bows.

"Yes, Minister."

Lin waits for the sound of her footsteps to fade before punching the metal wall, which crumples inward with a thunderous bang. Her lieutenant coughs discreetly.

"Shall I send the next one in?"

She pinches her brow and scowls at the building headache. "Sorry. Yes." The wall apologetically smooths itself out as another Joo Dee shuffles in. She flicks on her smile.

"How can I help you this wonderful day?"

.

.

Hunting down the members of the Copper Piece Brigade, Long Feng's collection of spies, voluntary or otherwise, is starting to consume her time, but as the news spreads, the oppressive atmosphere around Ba Sing Se begins to lift. She knows without a doubt that it's worth it.

Now citizens are informing on the informers, bringing years of suffocating fear up into the light. After the Dai Li start arresting Long Feng's spies, people almost stop flinching at the sight of wide-brimmed hats. Lin couldn't be more proud.

Now to do something about _him_.

.

.

"Back again so soon?" Long Feng drawls idly, not deigning to acknowledge her with so much as a glance. It's fine by her. If he dares meet her eyes, she'll hit him.

"You've lost," Lin says flatly. "Completely, utterly lost. You crawled up from nothing by tearing down the people around you—but you'll never be anything but a piece of treasonous, murdering scum. You're worse than Fire Nation."

His tone barely shifts, but she can tell she's hit a sore spot. "Is that so?"

Lin stares at him and resists the urge to grind her teeth. "Perhaps," she allows, "you're not scum. Perhaps, somewhere in the depths of your black, cowardly heart, you still care about Ba Sing Se."

At last, his emotionless eyes flick up to hers.

"Tell me how to reverse the harmonization."

Long Feng smiles.

"No."

.

.

The Fire Nation is still reeling from the battle for the capital that left entire districts leveled by earthbenders. They make a public spectacle of executing another brace of Earth Army prisoners every week.

When Fire Lord Ozai sets lightning tearing through six men at once, the crowd screams its approval to the sky.

Everyone waits with trembling anticipation for the day the clouds will burn red with comet-fire. The smoke rising over the Earth Kingdom will blot out the sun.

.

.

Lin's standing in the inner courtyard, taking a well-deserved refuge from the paperwork, when the wind picks up unexpectedly and a teenager falls from the clouds.

"Your agents were compromised," Azula says casually, as if she hasn't just dropped out of the sky on a paper glider. "What does it mean? He said something like _The Earth King has invited you to Lake_—"

Before her mouth can close upon the last syllable of "_Laogai_," Lin's already moved, a sharp, decisive slash through the air, fingers closing on her windpipe.

"Don't say it."

Azula's unguarded expression is priceless, if fleeting. "_You?_"

"Yes," she bites out, "and half of my most trusted agents." _We were weak. I was weak._

Surprise and fury vie for a moment on Azula's face before the tension vanishes and Lin steps away. "I take it you captured Long Feng?"

Lin frowns. "What for?"

"Don't try to keep me in the dark. I knew he was an untrustworthy snake from the beginning," Azula says uneasily, her back prickling, "and ... something Toph said. But she couldn't have known about you."

There's something tense between them, a thousand things left unsaid and so cursedly hopeful.

Well, Lin tells herself, there isn't anything strictly unnecessary in just saying, "I was going to join her, fight in the war with the army. Long Feng disagreed."

Azula's eyes turn dagger-sharp, flicking over the scars on her jaw. "That was before I was born. All this time?"

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Lin says. "It wasn't long after that we got the bad news from the front."

She remembers brushing her mother's death off like water, returning to her new duties as Dai Li. Her orders had seemed a thousand times more important than anything else.

People whispered about her._ There's something different about Lin now that she's an agent. Her own mother, and she stands on watch like nothing happened. Not even wearing mourning colors._

Azula watches her silently. At her side, her fist tightens so harshly the knuckles pop.

.

.

_Crack_.

Before he can even register she's entered the room, Azula punches Long Feng in the nose so hard that blood spatters the iron plating.

"That's for killing me," she says, stepping forward as he gasps on the floor. She lets Long Feng catch his breath before driving it out of him with a well-aimed kick in the stomach. "And that's for trying to kill me again."

She seizes his collar and pins him, unresisting, to the wall with one hand. The other grazes the line of his jaw contemplatively.

"I should give you something for Lin," Azula says, fingers flashing with blue flame bare inches over his face. To his credit, he doesn't turn away as the air shimmers with heat. "Three lines, wasn't it? I might have to try a few times to get the spacing just right, and even then the blistering will ruin it."

Long Feng stares back at her calmly. "Wonderful, isn't it?" he says, not struggling. "Knowing you're in control—that I'm at your mercy? You could do anything and I wouldn't be able to fight back."

Her eyes narrow as she catches the drift of his words.

"Imagine having complete loyalty," he says, starting to smile. "You wouldn't be able to resist, either."

No one could betray her. No more questioning her motives, just adoration and clean, immediate obedience—_anything, anything at all._

She imagines proud, strong Lin bowing to this bureaucrat, and Long Feng smirking as he touches the parallel scars on her cheek.

Her stomach crawls, so she shuts the thought off with a vengeance and seizes the trailing thread of Long Feng's inferiority.

"I can see your whole history in your eyes," Azula says, voice as steady and insinuating as her pale gold eyes gazing into his. "You were born with nothing, so you've had to struggle, and connive, and _claw_ your way to power. But true power, the divine right to rule, is something you're _born_ with."

That flare of jealousy is unmistakable, but he says nothing.

"Look at yourself," she says. Condescension drips from every word. "A man so delusional he had to create a following of puppets to just to flatter his vanity."

"I had power," he hisses, composure cracking. "I controlled everything—I had her."

"If you had been worthy, you could have earned her respect—her real loyalty. But you weren't," Azula says, something dawning in her mind with the unerring instinct of a born manipulator.

_(they—are—mine)_

_(this is the only place you can really hurt someone)_

"You never had Lin. Only her shadow, because you aren't capable of controlling more than the dead shells of things that used to be people."

She releases him suddenly, cutting off his retort. "And I'll take away even that, Long Feng. I'll find your puppets and destroy every last one. They respond to commands so easily, they won't even run."

That gets a genuine reaction—his pulse hitches into almost panicked flutters. "You're insane," he says, dark and furious. "You monster."

"_You_ already killed them. I'd only be finishing the job," Azula corrects lightly. She gives him her best too-wide smile and is rewarded with a flinch. "As for the pride and joy of your collection ... I'll save her for last."

.

.

The high general is in a rare talkative mood.

"The line of Sozin has ruined the Fire Nation," Toza says. "Your father, your grandfather, your great-grandfather—even, now, your sister. We pay for their mistakes every day."

The prince frowns distantly. "I know."

Toza leans back in his chair with a razor-thin smile. "I think it's time the reins of power passed to more _capable_ hands than the throne."

The uneasy feeling coalesces at last into the sharp, bitter edge of killing intent.

A bender shapes and reacts to the chi around him, reading malice in the coil of air and heat, or the lay of the land, but not every threat comes from the elements—Toza's nonbender bodyguards stand in Zuko's shadow. With an effort of will, he resists the urge to turn around.

"Your efforts were amusing, at best," the general says. "But with Ozai distracted and the military under my command, you're nothing but a legacy. Our country doesn't need a Lord anymore."

Zuko turns his teacup on the desk, watching it grow cold. Finally, without facing the old general, he says, "I wasn't expecting this."

Toza looks at him with pity. "You shouldn't have trusted me."

"I never did."

.

.

"They're _dead_," Lin snarls, pacing outside Long Feng's cell. "Brainwashing wasn't enough? Did you decide to have us killed if you lost, so no one else could control your personal army?"

Looking at his frozen expression, Lin says, "You disgust me," and the mask cracks.

"Never," he says quietly. "I acted for the good of the city—for order and control. The Avatar is behind the deaths. You can't trust her."

"Azula's done more for this city in a few weeks than you managed in years. I'm not listening to your lies," she says, and turns as if to go.

"Wait," Long Feng says, in a low voice that could carry leagues. "I can remove it. Lin. Please."

.

.

"I didn't enjoy that."

Under the gaze of the sun, Azula feels like a small, dirty speck.

"I shouldn't have taken it that far. I wouldn't have," she says carefully. "I just needed a reaction."

Lin folds her arms over her chest and looks at her. "And you thought the best way to do that was to threaten to _kill_ people?"

"I was lying!" she snaps, unable to help the angry heat haze shimmering around her hands. "I knew how to hurt him. I knew he would believe me."

"You're convincing." _Too convincing_, she doesn't have to say.

"I'm ... I'm _good_ at finding what people fear. I know it hurts when someone takes your things away from you."

Irritation and mistrust spark in her tone. "People aren't _things_."

"I know," she says, meeting Lin's unbreakable green eyes.

To both their surprise, her heartbeat rings with truth.

.

.

"I never trusted you," Zuko repeats, warily tracking the swordsmen out of the corner of his eye.

"Is that so?" the general says thoughtfully, leaning forward. "Seems like you decided to give me the benefit of the doubt, or I wouldn't be standing here."

"You'd better be willing to stake your life on it," he says, and something shifts in his voice, something cold and deadly, brimming with blue fire. "More than your life—your dream. The moment you're dead, your allies will turn on one another and tear the Fire Nation apart."

"Be as that may, I don't think you're in any position to threaten me, boy."

And there it is. Toza doesn't trust his supporters any more than he trusts the throne to lead the Fire Nation: it has to be him in control. No one can martyr themselves for their own sake, meaning Zuko's in the perfect position to threaten now.

"You're wrong." With more calm than he feels, he says, "I can't give you the antidote if I'm dead."

.

.

"What do you mean, the Northern envoy left?" Azula asks. Something in her even, pleasant tone sets the entire room on edge. The general shuffles in his seat.

"Something about the death toll, Avatar," he says apologetically. "His elders withdrew him and the Northern soldiers almost immediately. They're no longer under our command."

"How unfortunate," she says, furiously recalculating the chances of getting back into the Fire Nation without a fleet of waterbenders.

"He wanted to leave you this," the general says, sliding a small wooden disk across the table.

The White Lotus tile gazes up at her innocently.

.

.

Zuko rests his uncle's tin of ginseng oolong tea leaves on the edge of the table and says, "They used to poison the daughters of the Earth King to guarantee their loyalty. Perfectly safe, if you drink the antidote regularly."

High General Toza stares. "You're bluffing."

"Believe what you want," he says, fighting to hold his voice at that slow, predatory tone he associates so much with Azula. "But you should reconsider your decision to betray me."

"The son of Ozai—_any_ child of Sozin's blood—hardly deserves to rule," the general says, standing. Behind Zuko, hands tighten on sword hilts, but he silences his survival instinct to focus on the threat he can fight with words.

"You turn on me, and you're signing a death sentence: not just for yourself, but for the entire Fire Nation."

"Perhaps. Why don't we let the spirits decide?" Toza says, unrelenting, but Zuko doesn't tense. Everything depends on the steel of his resolve and the hesitation in the general's eyes. Getting out alive is worth nothing. Regaining his support is crucial.

"I'm the only one who can restore the Fire Nation," he answers, not looking away. "I'll carry my forefathers' sins, and our country will finally be free."

"You're too young," Toza says, almost disdainful but for the faint calculating look lingering over his face. "The first assassin will cut your airy dreams short in the space of a heartbeat."

In reply, lightning leaps over his fingers, bathing the room in searing blue light.

"I'm not weak," the prince says. "At your hand or another's. I won't die before I've brought honor back to the Fire Nation."

.

.

.

.


	19. Root

_._

_._

_(root)_

_._

_._

"What's he trying to tell me?" Azula demands out of nowhere, startling the adviser to the Grand Secretariat. She holds a Pai Sho piece between two delicate fingers.

"Perhaps it's a token of unrequited love," he says dryly. "The lotus piece is known for its uncanny evasive—"

"I know how to play Pai Sho," she snaps. "Don't play dumb. You're obviously White Lotus with that pedigree. No one makes it this high in Ba Sing Se without lineage or connections, and a real noble would die of shame if he had your skin tone."

He frowns warily, but doesn't deny the accusation. "I'll overlook the insult if you're polite."

"If my uncle wanted to send a message by withdrawing the Northern Water Tribe ..."

"And Omashu, and half of the neighboring city-states," he adds lightly. "Perhaps you're not aware, but there's no longer an alliance with the power to invade the Fire Nation."

"Who gave him the right?" Azula says, expression turning dangerous.

"The White Lotus exists to preserve balance when the Avatar can't." He meets her eyes levelly. "I don't know what you're planning, but this war will not end with another invasion."

Azula's gaze turns cold. "Tell that old fool that he should fear his brother more than me," she says, sweeping from the room.

.

.

"Earthbending's not about knowing where you're going. It's about knowing where you stand, where you've come from—and you come from the earth," she says, stomping a foot into the dusty stone for emphasis. Azula can feel the way the chi of the land pulls Lin down into itself, solid, rooted.

Her own feet trace the ground. When she strikes the earth, she feels the ground reject her energy, the reflected vibrations running painfully up and down her shin. Her heel bruises.

"Don't fight it," Lin says. "Stop fidgeting—sink your stance."

Ordinarily she would complain about the barbaric forms of earthbending, but standing next to Lin, whose elegant body somehow holds the strength of mountains, Azula only grits her teeth and tries harder.

After what seems like ages of repetition—_breathe in, breathe out, horse stance—_with nothing to show for her effort, Lin puts a hand on her shoulder.

"We'll try again tomorrow. You're almost there."

Azula almost snaps, "_Almost isn't good enough_," but something makes her hesitate long enough for Lin to pull her inside.

.

.

Walking down the long corridors towards the guest wing, Azula misses a step, causing Lin to turn, silent concern in her eyes.

"It's nothing," she says quickly.

In her suite, she curls up under the sheets and remembers nights in the Palace, alone but for the starlight.

"Toph?" she asks.

No voice or image comes this time, only a brush of warmth, like a silvery thread descending from elsewhere.

.

.

"Reversing the harmonization is only the beginning," Lin warns quietly, leaning against the wall as if to draw solidity from the stone. "Long Feng told the truth. There's only so much we can do to heal the damage."

"Even now?" Azula says.

"... I keep seeing the lamp, hearing his voice. Nightmares," Lin admits quietly.

Azula pulls an arc of pure water from the gutter and lets it dance over her palm for a moment before she says, "I think we can help." She pauses and looks at her hand: the pockmarked scar of an arrow's bite, and the more recent electric burns chained up her forearms in slow-healing red. "I ... I should say, _she_ can help."

Evening finds her hovering outside the infirmary, feeling out of place.

One of Lin's agents lies on his stomach as Katara presses water-wrapped fingers to his temples, cautiously flowing with the murmur of his chi. His mind is a river after a flood; she seeks out the mud-clogged pathways and makes them run clear with thought again. She's not sure what to make of the quivering needles arranged precisely through an array of points along his spine, but Ty Lee only smiles and promises it will help.

Lin looks almost worn to a shred with worry and grief, but when she looks into each of her agents' clear green eyes, the atmosphere of the entire room effortlessly rises with her steady, pounding relief.

Azula closes her eyes and clings to that feeling like a lifeline.

.

.

"I thought I'd find you here," Ty Lee says, hopping up onto the Palace's highest terracotta roof, seemingly heedless of the treacherous footing. Moonlight slips off the tiles.

Azula frowns, but moves her glider so that Ty Lee can sit. "What do you want?"

"I don't need to want anything from you just to talk, do I?" she says lightly.

_I came up here to be alone_, she doesn't say, because when Ty Lee's smile loosens like that, like a mask slipping off, her presence is bearable. More than bearable.

"Go ahead and talk at me, then."

Her gray eyes take on a strangely serious cast. "I feel like you're the one who wants to talk, Azula."

"Not likely," she scoffs, but Ty Lee lets her reply drift past her as if she didn't hear it at all. The wind brushes across the roofs in their silence.

Words force their way out of her mouth before she even realizes they're there: "Did you trust me?"

"I've always trusted you."

"Even when the counter-attack came?"

"I was afraid," she says softly, "but I knew you're—you're _smart_, Azula. You don't let emotions get in the way. You were forced to ... let them die, because if you fought the Fire Lord you'd have stopped everything. It wasn't your fault you couldn't find him."

Azula goes still.

Uncertainly, she says, "Azula?"

Without another word she seizes her glider and snaps the wings open, but Ty Lee grabs her wrist. "Wait!"

Her golden eyes flash wide, stark against her pale skin for the barest instant, as Azula turns.

In a split second, she jerks Ty Lee's arms behind her, wrenching her shoulders, and pins her to the roof. A knee in the back numbs her from the waist down before she has time to scream.

"I wasn't _forced_ to do anything," Azula says harshly, her breath ragged. Her hair falls tangled from her bun, brushing the back of Ty Lee's neck. "I didn't care. I _wanted_ them to die."

"Azula," she says, trembling, "you're hurting me."

"Did you expect anything different from me?" She doesn't loosen her grip. "And you're wrong about something else. I did find him. I found Ozai."

Her hands are painfully tight against her skin, burning hot along her wrists.

"Then I pathetically lapped up his approval as if I'd forgotten everything he'd done—because of everyone in the whole world, even _you_, Ty Lee, he's the only one who could _ever_ be proud of me," she says bitterly. "Maybe you should ask yourself why."

"I know you might not see it, but you've come so far," she says. "You _do_ care. You care so much it hurts. And I _am_ proud."

With a sharp motion, Azula pushes her to the edge of the roof, still pinioning her arms tight behind her.

It's a long way down.

"You don't trust me now," she says, eyes gleaming. "You know you can't."

Ty Lee takes a slow breath and looks away from the drop. "You're confused and afraid, and you're hurting me," she says, "but I still do. I know you can be better."

"You're a fool," Azula breathes.

"Everyone says that. But I'm _not_."

Her burned wrists moan in agony as Azula releases her and stumbles gracelessly to her knees.

There's a heavy silence between them. After a moment, Ty Lee offers her the hand so recently twisted and wrenched behind her.

She's almost caught off-guard by the sudden movement as arms lock around her shoulders. With a start, she realizes Azula is crying, thick tears pouring silently down her face and soaking the back of her shirt.

"Please don't do that again," Ty Lee says.

"I'm sorry," Azula says into her shoulder, almost too quietly to be heard. "I'm sorry. I don't want to ... I _hate_ this. I don't want ..."

She's never apologized to anyone besides her father.

"Don't look back. I'll be here," Ty Lee says.

"You shouldn't be."

"I don't care. I promise."

Her tears don't stop for a long time.

.

.

"Aren't you going to tell Katara?" Azula asks, hovering outside her room as Ty Lee slowly paints her scalded skin with aloe.

She shrugs. "I don't want her to be mad at you."

Her dismissive attitude sparks something furious. "She should be. _You_ should be. You can't let me ... you can't let someone hurt you and just _smile_ at them afterwards, like it's nothing."

Ty Lee looks at her. She doesn't smile. "I know it's not nothing. I'm stronger than you, and I'll prove it. But right now, you need your arms and legs. You need Katara. I can wait."

Despite everything, Azula manages to meet her cloud-gray eyes without flinching. "I won't betray your trust again. I swear it on whatever honor I have."

"I know."

And then, on some strange impulse, Azula lifts one hand and brings water to rest over the blistered skin.

"I thought you couldn't heal," the acrobat says curiously.

Azula thinks of Ty Lee extending a burned hand to the girl who hurt her, and something surges unbearably inside of her.

"I can now," she replies, and the water casts shadows in soft, soothing blue.

.

.

"The earth is your subordinate, not your enemy," Lin says. "Be strong with firmness, not aggression. Control, not anger."

She gestures uncompromisingly. "Again."

Azula doesn't think of how she treats her subordinates, because the last time she tried, the recoil punched a massive, discoloring bruise into her foot.

Instead she thinks of Lin and the way her agents instinctively gravitate towards her. She thinks of Lin's raw voice saying _you're safe now you're free thank the spirits_ after they sent the lamps spinning counter-clockwise and the veils peeled away.

_Be strong_, she thinks, sinking into her stance, and the soul of the earth rises up to meet her.

.

.

The entire world opens.

She is a mountain, a valley, the solid stone beneath her feet; rooted and engulfed in the unimaginably huge, slow-cycling spirit of the earth. Even when she rips crests out of the rock, bites deep down into the skin of the world, it stays the same, steady and long-suffering. It feels welcoming in a way nothing has ever been, not even the lightest white-silk fire.

"That's called finding your center," Lin says, amused, even without Azula saying a word.

.

.

Lin stops looking like Toph after another week.

Azula can still see the Bei Fong written into the planes of her daughter's cheekbones, but she realizes there's something distinctly Lin about them, and they're not the same person at all. At her most solemn, there's a wicked mischief in Toph's unseeing eyes; Lin holds stern melancholy there instead.

Even so, the feeling that comes over her in Lin's presence is the precisely same as walking side-by-side with Toph through the shadow-heavy Palace corridors.

.

.

Zuko drops a tiny glass bottle into Toza's palm.

"You'll forgive me if I never drink with you again," the general says wryly, fingers closing around the antidote.

After a pause, the prince says, "... No. If I ever try to kill you, it'll be a fair fight."

Something cynical settles in Toza's eyes. "Have you learned nothing? There is no honor here."

"If you really believe that, then there's no hope for the Fire Nation," Zuko says. He frowns at him. "I'm not afraid to do what must be done. But without honor, we can only end up like my father."

To his surprise, the general laughs shortly. "Well, well, the crown is less useless than I'd thought," he says, in a voice heavy with sarcasm. "Perhaps your misguided ideals of _nobility_ are what this country needs."

"I'll prove it to you."

"I look forward to it."

.

.

"The comet is coming," Sokka says.

Instead of saying something sarcastic, Azula asks, "What do you think we should do?"

His eyebrow lifts. "You feeling okay?"

"Fine, thank you."

"Aren't you supposed to be all bossy and_ 'Bow to me, miserable peasant'_ and have a plan all written out already?"

She shrugs. "After the eclipse, even the most of miserable peasants would have a hard time believing anything I said. Most of all you."

It's as close to an apology he's ever going to get.

"Tell the generals I lied. I think they'll be happy to include you."

And that, Sokka realizes, only hours later, was her confession.

.

.

_(without honor, we can only end up like—)_

Ozai missed his calling, Toza thinks bitterly as the war council claps. He stands like an actor basking in his own glory upon the stage, blinded by the footlights to anything but himself.

He wonders if the Fire Lord is so powerful he can already feel the rage of the comet, unimaginably far away. Perhaps his inner fire is already humming with pent-up, furious energy that can only be expended in the most grandiose of atrocities.

To sear the face of the earth to charcoal—what monstrous vengeful spirits would be set upon the Fire Nation then?

"A world reborn in fire," the general murmurs, and shakes his head.

.

.

Sokka puzzles over the sealed blue scroll, addressed to him in a delicate script that definitely doesn't belong to Hakoda. Still, it has his name on it, so he breaks the white lotus seal with the edge of his boomerang and leaps away, half-expecting a bomb.

Paper spills out of the casing and drifts to the floor—paper stained with something that looks suspiciously like blood.

Sokka gulps and inches forward.

Leaning in for a closer look, he realizes it's not blood, but scorch marks on a map of the world, radiating out from the coast of the Earth Kingdom into the mainland.

The other scrap of paper looks like it's been torn from a set of technical blueprints; he can see the skeletal ribs and fins of a massive war machine, and the image of an airship in the corner. As he tucks it under the map, he reads the cramped writing in one corner:

_They will burn it all._

.

.

She starts to feel the air burning around her when she's not paying attention.

Her chi ripples fitfully, as if yearning for the coming fire. Sozin's Comet calls to her across unimaginable darkness, like the sun tremulously reaching out from behind the eclipse.

She could grow delirious with this power, she thinks hungrily. Power not seen for a hundred years—what a gift, to be alive and strong enough to grasp this falling spark.

Her ability to sense the chi of even an earthbender as powerful as Lin begins to fade behind the haze of her inner fire. Sokka and Ty Lee barely register at all.

_This is why Sozin decided fire was the only worthy element_, Azula warns herself, waiting tensely for the glow of the distant comet.

.

.

Azula drifts down the wrong corridor. Bamboo grows thick around her. The air hums with the voices of silent lives, familiar as the crackle of fire in her hands.

Experimentally, she tries to firebend, but nothing happens.

A monster lunges from the thicket, pinning her to her ground under its massive clawed feet in the space of moments. It howls into her face, low and tortured, and she catches the image of a deserted shrine rising from a field of ash. Not a monster, a spirit.

_Defiled. Desecrated. Home_, it says without words, shaking her. It's not human, but she can at least read desperate fury rather than blood-lust in its manner, so she's perhaps more flippant than is wise.

"It's not my forest and I can't make it grow again. Go bother someone else."

_World-Spirit protects_, it insists.

She's had enough making promises to spirits. "Look, whoever did this is probably no one. I'm not hunting him for you, and you're not leaving your shrine. The seedlings will grow strong in the ash. That's what _happens_ in war. Let it go."

But she's misunderstood, she realizes, seeing frustration flicker across the spirit's face.

_Protect_, it snarls, and she catches the hint of a future fire. An image: a second sun impossibly huge in the sky, painting the clouds blood red. A world turned to ash.

.

.

"I'm going to stop him."

And suddenly the universe falls clear and simple into her lap, everything as it should be. This is what she was born to do. Not to revenge herself on her father. Not even protect people she doesn't know and doesn't care about.

If nothing else is certain, she at least knows this: he is wrong and she has to stop him. She never realized how good it feels to know, truly, that she's _right_. The entire world, spirit and human, stands behind her, but even if it didn't, _right_ is something bigger than her, bigger than the world.

_(monster)_

No.

_I'm **not**._

She stands on that solid ground, as rooted as an earthbender, and feels with beautiful clarity the humming purpose in her chi, dancing under her control again. It seems so easy now to reach, pull—

Her lightning splits the sky, bold white searing afterimages into her laughing eyes.

.

.

Azula frowns at Sokka's drawing. "It looks like a tadpole."

He swats her good-naturedly and cries, "What? No, it's an airship—can't you see the tail fins?"

"Those are eyes."

"No! ... okay, I see it too." He deflates for a moment, but carries on. "The tadpole's tail—that's _fire_, don't you get it? That's how they're going to burn the Earth Kingdom without having to set foot on the ground."

Elegant, she doesn't say, knowing it won't be taken well. Instead, she says, "We're not going to be able to destroy an entire fleet of airships, especially if the crew is running on comet-fire. And if they split up to cover more ground ..."

"But you have lightning!" Sokka says eagerly. "All we have to do is get you close enough and you can take out their engines in a few seconds."

She smiles bitterly. "If Ozai is with them, I think I'll be a little busy."

.

.

"These airships wouldn't happen to be made of metal, would they?" Lin asks, fighting a smile.

.

.

.

.


	20. Ignite

_._

_._

_(ignite)_

_._

_._

_There are enough spies in the Fire Nation to destroy it twice over,_ Azula thinks darkly, looking at the battle plans spread out before the generals of the Earth Kingdom. Though a dozen details contradict and they barely describe the entirety of the coming invasion, each piece of information speaks of a network of spies and traitors. She doesn't envy Ozai. Let him keep his nest of vipers.

Looking over the table, Sokka turns into an entirely different person, as if he can't see the generals behind him. The opulence of the Palace no longer seems to cow him as he talks, chains of reasoning flying shutter-fast across observations, smoothing out the contradictions and forming new conclusions.

Azula notices, too, that without Lin's presence, none of the Council of Five would give a peasant boy from the south a moment's thought. If any of the generals are tempted to exchange patronizing glances now, they're being suppressed by Lin's serious expression.

When Sokka finally marks three islands with a look of certainty, there's no longer a trace of doubt in the room.

"Three separate fleets of airships," Azula says, impressed. "Northern Water Tribe, the outer Earth territories, and Ba Sing Se."

General How whispers something that sounds like an incredulous, "_They call the western kingdoms our outer territories? Spoken like an imperialist._" Azula pretends not to hear.

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" Sokka says. "They want payback for the eclipse."

"And Ozai won't be able to resist the chance to succeed where his brother failed," Azula finishes, tapping a finger against the dot marked, with endless hubris, _The Impenetrable City_.

Sokka looks almost amused. "Your family," he says, "is _weird_."

.

.

"They won't send their navy this time," Chief Arnook says grimly, placing the scroll before his council. "Perhaps our most advanced waterbenders will be able to fight these machines, but under the influence of even the far edges of Sozin's Comet, we will be destroyed."

Murmurs cascade amongst the elders.

"You have a solution?"

Arnook inclines his head. "Brothers, in times of need, we cannot fight alone. We must open our gates to outsiders."

Concerned frowns, though Pakku only folds his arms expectantly. To his left, the chief hunter sighs, "What have you done?"

"Only what I must," Arnook replies, mild tone brooking no argument. "They have come far and at great risk. Welcome, friends."

The council chamber stirs, as if with a faint breeze, as the foreigners enter, splashing strange colors into the blue.

"Thank you, Chief Arnook," says the Air Nomad at their head, bowing.

At his side, looking more content in white than he's ever been in red, stands Iroh, the Dragon of the West, who bows and sheepishly breathes flames over his cold fingers.

.

.

Her lightning flashes true again and again. She doesn't need to draw divergences in the air anymore; the energy flows without thought or effort. She can kill faster than reflex.

She pictures the scenario in her mind's eye: the slow beginning of a smirk, an intake of breath for the first explosion of firebending—in the next instant, hurled back with the lightning, one last expression of surprise on his hard, angular face.

The rock shatters into superheated fragments with her next strike.

"He doesn't stand a chance," Katara says, half-approvingly, half-concerned.

"No."

"Are you afraid of fighting him?"

_(killing him)_

Azula quietly considers the terrible strength of Fire Lord Ozai standing beside her, remembers the refined gold of his eyes. And, in the end: jealousy and pride together. The last and only thing she's ever wanted from him.

"My father," she says, acknowledging their connection aloud for the first time in ages, "would never allow himself to be killed by me."

She believes it with some deep and desperate faith. If he cannot die by her hand, Azula can aim to kill without a trace of guilt.

.

.

"What do you mean, you won't kill?"

Sonam looks at the incredulous elder. "We offer you our aid on only one condition," he repeats. "We understand cold. You cannot leave the Fire Nation soldiers to die once we have destroyed their airships. You will bring them out of the ocean, and they will _live_."

In the explosion of debate that follows, he stands as calm and unyielding as the face of the steel-gray sky.

.

.

"You fight with a _boomerang_," Lin says, one eyebrow raised.

Sokka bristles with defensiveness. "Hey! Once I knocked out Azula with it! And it's sharp!"

"I'm not going to baby-sit you," she says, matter-of-fact. "If you can't hold your own, you're not coming on this mission."

"_I_ am a warrior of the Southern Water Tribe," Sokka says, glaring, "and just because _you_ don't know how to use a boomerang doesn't make it useless."

Instead of retaliating, though, Lin considers him with calm eyes long enough to make him squirm. "Keep it," she finally says. "The unexpected is always the best weapon."

And then she tears the steel table in half with her bare hands. Dust settles as the pieces fall to the ground with a muffled clang.

"They'll never see us coming," she says, to Sokka's horrified expression.

.

.

"We'll meet them over the water," Azula says, tracing the path of Ozai's fleet. "I'll draw his attention first. Then you'll be free to start taking the airships down."

Katara frowns at the diagrams uncertainly. "They seem a lot weaker than the battleships."

"You won't be on the water and you won't have me this time," Azula reminds her. "Don't waste your time on the hull. Go straight for the engines. Ty Lee, don't let anyone stop her. And don't fall off the side."

The acrobat gives her a look. "I never lose my balance," she says. "You should be more worried about yourself."

"If our timing is right, we'll reach them before the comet comes," Azula says confidently. "Even then, a fully-realized Avatar fighting a firebender in the middle of the ocean? I'll be fine."

.

.

Sokka finally pulls Azula to the side, as if he trusts her not to kill him for his insolence.

"Don't let my sister get hurt," he says, pushing her into the wall with his presence. "I won't forgive you."

She briefly considers searing the hands on either side of her, just enough to blister and peel angry, shiny red, but lets the thought go with an effort. Instead, Azula meets his eyes and says, "She'll be safe. You have three seconds to get out of my space."

Sokka twitches backwards, but doesn't look away. Quietly, he mutters, "Thanks," and vanishes.

.

.

Ozai looks down on the rows of his people. Behind him, his airship awaits its leader.

"Fire Lord Ozai is no more. Just as the world will be reborn in fire, I shall be reborn as the supreme ruler of the world," he announces, as he lets the crown fall into a Fire Sage's hands, forgotten. He steps into the mantle of the Phoenix with a slow smile.

His grandfather's comet waits hungrily past the horizon, ready to bring the world to its knees.

"It's time for this world to end in fire ... and for a new world to be born from the ashes."

.

.

"We're too late! The fleet's already taking off!" Sokka says, stumbling over the ridge, but Lin rolls her eyes.

"Then we're taking off, too," she says flatly, before making a hard, solid movement with her arms.

Sokka screams in as manly a way as possible as the earth bucks beneath them, launching them through the air.

.

.

Before the Northern Water Tribe's ice walls are anything more than a distant glimmer on the horizon, the sky suddenly flashes with red silk, like autumn leaves on the arctic wind.

_Vengeful__ ghosts of the last Comet,_ the captain thinks for a superstitious moment; _but the memories of a century past cannot stop the present glory._

Fireballs lance through the sky as the airbenders shift like a flock of sparrowkeets, letting the attacks pass fluidly through.

"They can't be _that_ hard to hit! Concentrate your fire," the captain snaps into the intercom. Through the windows, he can see something like a red star burning bright in the south, and his inner fire roars. "The Comet is here!"

Before Sozin's Comet has time to lend its strength to their flame, the gliders are upon them.

Behind him, he hears the awful scream of tearing metal as the turbines choke on suddenly disobedient intakes. The airship lurches with a terrible guttural noise, and begins to fall out of the sky.

.

.

"Wait!" Sokka yelps, as Lin starts ripping through the hull with measured, deliberate motions. "I have a better idea!"

"Hm."

A bare minute later, the door of the main control room explodes inwards, then crumples into the shape of a woman. Armored in metal, Lin punches the closest firebender with a steel-wrapped fist; the floor curls around him like a living thing as he falls.

A brilliant plume of flame splashes over her back. With a hiss of pain, Lin sends the superheated metal rocketing away from her, pinning the engineer to the wall. The last soldier finds himself bound hand and foot with the rest of her makeshift armor.

"That's how it's done," Lin says, dusting off her hands as Sokka crows with delight and takes the wheel and pushes a button. The intercom crackles.

"_Attention crew: this is your captain speaking. Everyone please report to the bomb bay for hot cakes and sweet cream. We have a very special birthday to celebrate ..._"

.

.

The comet breaks open the sky and the roof of the world bleeds.

"_Oh_," Azula says, her voice sounding faint in her own ears, drowned out by her own pounding heartbeat. Her veins rush hot and strong, singing with a voice like a cloud of arrows.

From her seat on Appa's head, Ty Lee looks back with wide eyes. "It's weird to say, but the comet actually looks beautiful."

"Too bad the Fire Lord's about to use it to destroy the world," Katara says, at the same time Azula says, "It is."

The two girls glance at each other, startled.

.

.

"That's a lot of fire," Lin says faintly, hands tightening to fists as comet-fire rages from the airships, igniting the dry land of the western Earth Kingdom. "We don't have time to sabotage them all."

"I have an idea! Airship slice!" Sokka cries, eyes alight, and jams the wheel to the side before she can stop him.

They run for their lives over the roof, not sparing a glance towards the second sun staining the sky red as the airship starts to fall apart beneath their feet. He makes the mistake of looking back at steel beams and plates buckling and screams, "We're not going to make it!"

"Shut up and jump!" she orders, taking one last step and bracing.

"We're too far aw—_aaaaaagh!_" yells Sokka. The plate beneath them hurls them across empty space just as the metal screams and tears away.

For a terrible moment he sees earth burning far, far below his flailing feet, and then they land with a crunch when the roof makes way for them in a way steel shouldn't.

Lin rolls to her feet with effortless grace and starts prying the hull from the airship's skeleton.

"What are you doing?" Sokka says, struggling to stay on his feet as the ship lists and begins to fall.

"Next one!" she says in reply, and another lurch hurls them through the air towards the roof of the next airship. But this time, the hatch opens before they can land, revealing a sea of menacing helmets.

With a jerk, Lin slams the door shut on grasping fingers, the clang almost loud enough to drown out the screams of pain. The motion throws off her timing, and she doesn't react fast enough to bend the roof as they land on unyielding metal.

Lin collapses with a bitten-off curse, breath driven out of her, just as the hatch flies open again. Sokka barely has time to see the coiled stances and open palms, and without thinking, he lunges and yells, "Down!" Fire passes behind them as he leaps, slips, falls—

She seizes his wrist with one hand and slaps her other onto the hull as they tumble down the side of the airship. Blood flies from her fingers as they scrabble for a hold, collide with a row of sharp-edged rivets, and fall away from the side.

They free-fall for an eternity.

.

.

Lin can't quite silence her scream when her leg breaks on impact. Her grip on Sokka's wrist tightens so much that he cries out as he dangles precariously below her.

"Don't let go! But maybe just loosen up a little," he gulps, looking down at the dizzying distance passing beneath his feet. Lin ignores him and tries to keep her shoulder from wrenching itself out of the socket.

Soldiers run out onto the walkways, armor discarded to fight Lin's metalbending, forcing her to reach blindly for the nearest weapon. With her remaining hand, Lin tears a support from the railing and uses it to knock a man overboard. The strip of metal holding them creaks dangerously as they start to slide down, towards the terrifying drop.

"No no _no no!_" Sokka says, voice jumping several octaves. "Don't do that again!"

"There's nothing else to hit them with," Lin snaps, clenching her teeth hard around the pain that lights in her shoulder as Sokka swings in her vice grip. She silences the part of her that wants to collapse into a shivering heap, and bends the lip of the walkway up just enough to cradle them at its very edge. "Spirits, you're heavy—What are you carrying, rocks?"

"Oh yeah! I forgot!" Sokka says, and Lin hisses as he twists in her grasp, glances up, and swings.

An arcing boomerang knocks a man over the railing and throws off the others' aim. Brilliant columns of fire lash into the air above them, only to cut off sharply as the weapon comes whistling back, cracking their heads from behind.

Soldiers and boomerang fall from the walkways as more firebenders gather on either side of them. Sokka watches his prized weapon recede into the distance and moans, "I don't think Boomerang is coming back, Lin."

"Think again," Lin says, swinging her free hand to seize the tiny constellation of earth she can distantly sense windmilling through the air, and _pulls_.

Even the sound of Sokka's outraged voice crying, "_That's not how you throw a boomerang!_" can't stifle her rush of satisfaction as the scrap of blue steel cuts through the approaching soldiers, sending them hurtling down through the sky.

.

.

"Up you come," the northerner says, pulling the soldier from the frigid ocean with an expression of distaste. With brisk, ungentle motions, he purges the seawater from the firebender's lungs, ignoring the way he sways and retches.

"You ... _barbarian_," the soldier gasps, looking at the sinking wreck of his airship, swarming with blue boats.

"You're welcome," he snaps, and turns to bend another figure in red armor from the depths.

The southern half of sky is still ablaze. Comet-fire fills his veins with the power of a hundred suns, despite the bitter cold threatening to freeze his chi in its tracks. He takes a steadying breath and strikes—only to watch his attack vanish mere inches from his fist.

An airbender steps lightly out of the sky at the edge of the boat.

"_Don't,_" she says, as he whirls, a comet-fueled fireball exploding from his hand.

She doesn't run; instead, her feet wedge firmly into the bow as she forces her hands apart in a sharp motion. This time he can hear the rush of air vacating the space between them, shredding his flame in an instant. The skin of his hand tears under the pressure and begins to bleed just as the air rushes back in with a crack. The waterbender laughs as he pulls another soldier onto the deck.

"Behave, or we'll toss you back in," he says. "Around here, the Ocean doesn't like your kind."

"We will do no such thing," says the woman, but in her detached gray eyes, he remembers the way she suffocated his flame, and wonders if she could do the same to a person. The shiver that passes through him comes only partly from the bite of the arctic wind.

.

.

On a patch of exposed rock along the coast, ex-General Iroh himself hands out dry blankets and cups of tea. He turns down challenges of Agni Kai from Fire Nation soldiers with an indulgent smile.

Despite his aura of reckless calm, the crowd trembles with tension, as embers smolder beneath ash. Every firebender is painfully aware of Sozin's Comet hanging above them like a blade, but equally wary of the watching airbenders.

The commander of the airship fleet shakes his way free from the restraining grip of two warriors, steam rising from his soaked clothes. "You'll pay for this! I challenge you to an Agni Kai, you spirits-cursed traitor."

"Let's not fight," Iroh says, shaking his head, but the other man looks furious.

"You're a fool and worse, a coward! Everyone knows you, _Dragon of the West,_" he spits, giving the title a vicious twist. "The legendary failure who lifted the siege."

"The sages say it is better to bear indignity than rush into destruction. But you are young. Perhaps after a few more years you will understand," Iroh says, smile growing more forced by the second.

"Don't bother hiding your cowardice with meaningless words," he says, pressing harder. "Your own son would be ashamed of you, if you hadn't let him _die_."

The crowd falls silent.

Iroh turns. With calm formality, he bows at the waist and says, "I accept your challenge."

"Finally," the commander says, baring his teeth in a predatory smile. Something shifts imperceptibly in the air, like the prickle of anticipation before a thunderstorm, as the soldiers step away.

"You'll want to move further back," Iroh says lightly. From nowhere, a low flame crackles around the space cleared around the duelists, like the river of flame before the throne, as if to remind the murmuring crowd exactly _whose_ grandson he is.

Pakku sniffs. "Old man's just getting bored," he says, watching as the cliff suddenly explodes into an inferno to rival the comet above.

"Don't mind me," Iroh says, as the ring of fire rises and falls with his breath, perfectly controlled even as it rages to terrifying heights. "When you get to my age you'll need to warm up, too." Idly, he whirls a hand, and lightning flashes through his fingers.

The commander turns pale.

.

.

Azula breathes.

Without taking her glider, she leaps from the saddle, propelling herself towards the airship fleet. Columns of fire rush towards her, only to be engulfed by white flames like writhing clouds.

The engines are several times bigger than her, but for all their size, Azula forces chains of fire blasts through the whirling blades. The superheated steel cracks and breaks, spraying shards into the air. She dodges with a deft twist and finishes the job with an explosion of blue-white fire hot enough to melt through the hull and ignite the fuel lines. The livid metal flashes over the ocean with the intensity of stars as the wave of black smoke roils over her.

Imperial Firebenders swarm the outer decks of the adjacent ships and hurl comet-fire at her—fireballs that blaze like miniature suns and stream like coiling dragons, each seething with wild, furious energy. She kicks hard to soar above them. The scorch of the comet warms her back, and she shivers.

Basking under comet-fire is like passing under the Ocean Spirit, but without the mind of the Ocean dragging her under. The power searing through the conduit of her body bends to her will—here is _power_ without price, without limit. Hers are the hands cradling pure intensity like no other.

"Where are you?" Azula says hungrily, scanning the roof of the airship, but Ozai doesn't come.

.

.

.

.


	21. Ashes

_._

_._

_(ashes)_

_._

_._

Mai lets her needles fly. A rain of steel blades, blunted for practice, slash forward with so much force they sink inch-deep into the wood, dotting the human outline with silver. She doesn't stop to admire her handiwork; her red cloak whirls as she changes direction, crossbows snapping, the bolts thudding into another effigy's throat in sequence. Her thin fingers find throwing stars without breaking skin and a half-dozen disks whistle through the air, their arcing trajectories converging to a single point.

The pommel of her sleeve dagger slips into her palm as Mai steps around the clearing, taking in the carnage with a practiced eye. She stoops to move a needle a few inches to the left, measuring the distance with thumb and forefinger. Perfection is boring, but her station demands nothing less, so Mai twists the blades free and begins again.

.

.

"This is unlike you."

"I'm not your game piece any more," Mai says quietly, a hint of warning in her otherwise noninflected tone.

Her father bows his head in acknowledgment. "A piece can lose only her life; a player can lose the entire game. Be careful."

"I'm always careful," she says, shifting just enough to make the outlines of her hidden blades visible. "I don't need you to tell me anything."

.

.

Mai looks almost happy when she meets him again.

"You're not bleeding."

"Nice to see you, too," Zuko says tiredly.

"I told you. Poisoning him was a good idea after all."

A line spreads flat over his expression. "I don't want to talk about it."

Her eyes narrow for a split second before her face loses all emotion. "Fine. Then we won't talk about it," Mai says, turning away, and Zuko, clueless as ever, takes her icy silence for agreement.

.

.

Zuko lets his head sink back into the cushions, weary to the bone.

"You're not thinking of doing something stupid like going after the Fire Lord yourself, are you?" Mai asks, out of the blue, and he flinches.

"No," he finally says, meeting her gaze. "Defeating him is Azula's ... no, the Avatar's destiny. I couldn't rule the Fire Nation with that on my hands."

Mai closes her eyes, as if counting his heartbeats through the cheek pressed to his chest. "I'm glad you still care about your stupid honor," she says.

Zuko frowns, then, fighting down an objection, but she continues, dead serious, "I should have remembered how important it is to you. You know I would have poisoned him myself, if you'd asked."

Distantly, he says, "_Never forget who you are,_" with an air of fond memory and a smile, and all of a sudden, she knows.

"You—utter—_idiot_," she breathes, sitting up so she can stare at him. "You didn't poison him."

Zuko only smirks, at least until she punches him in the chest, then changes her mind and kisses him harder.

.

.

"I'm counting on you," Zuko says, having decided long ago that honesty was the most effective way to deal with Shen. "Things are going to be hard after the comet."

The captain of the Home Guard only shrugs. "Prince Zuko, we're not going to fight our people for your sake."

"They're my people too. I'm not asking you to fight," he answers. "I'm asking you not to fight."

"Silently support your coup, you mean," he challenges, more to hear Zuko's response than anything.

"I mean that when the Fire Lord meets his match on the day he tries to burn the world," Zuko says, clear and serious, "I don't want to be executed as a traitor for taking the throne."

_This son will not kill his father for power,_ he means.

Finally the captain smiles, though grimly, and says, "We can arrange that."

.

.

Mai finishes attaching Toza's intel to the messenger hawk's leg, at this point no longer bothering to pass it through the White Lotus first. She finds it amusing to deliver messages to the Water Tribe boy rather than Azula herself; the exiled princess probably fumes every time a peasant opens confidential information she knows is really meant for her.

But this is the last, most vital piece—the Fire Lord's exact locations on the days leading up to the flight of Sozin's Comet, from palace to staging grounds to Ba Sing Se. The coordinates vanish into the sky, leaving Mai standing alone on the caldera.

She watches it go with a small smile.

.

.

"What if he comes back?" Zuko asks suddenly.

Mai doesn't have to ask to know that the thought has been haunting him for months: the grim image of the Fire Lord's triumph, Azula lying broken at his feet. She doesn't admit that the idea frightens her.

_If not Azula, then who ... ?_

"Don't worry about it," she says, although she has a very clear backup plan involving the reclusive Fire Lady ... that Zuko would probably object to. "Destiny, remember?"

"What if we're wrong?"

"We're not. Azula is more than capable."

Zuko looks away. "But if ... I wouldn't know what to do anymore."

In the timbre of his voice, Mai realizes that if the Fire Lord kills his daughter, Zuko will strike him down, no matter what his honor says.

.

.

He breathes deeply and the meditation flames respond, pulsing up and down with the flow of his energy. If they're flickering more than usual, he tries not to notice.

_If Azula dies_ (the candles tremble as if in a high wind),_ then—_

"Hey."

He jolts, reflexively unsheathing his swords in a single deadly motion.

Mai glances at the blade at her collarbone wryly. "Remind me not to sneak up on you again," she says, as metal scrapes audibly across the wrist she brought up to guard her neck.

"Sorry," he says quickly, stepping back. "You caught me off guard."

"It's the comet," Mai remembers, checking her cut sleeve. The steel bracer underneath is undamaged. "Just when I thought nonbenders couldn't get any more invisible."

Zuko glances up, unthinkingly turned straight towards Sozin's Comet, already full of nervous, yearning energy.

.

.

Zuko's expecting word from Lanzi on their plans for the Fire Lady, but the scroll on the table isn't from him. He barely needs to unroll it before he recognizes Mai's flawless handwriting.

_Dear Zuko, I'm sorry you that you have to find out this way, but ..._

The shock hits him like a physical blow, reverberating through his entire body and forcing him to collapse bonelessly into the chair. As he reads, his hands start to shake uncontrollably.

"What are you _doing?_" he whispers, eyes widening with every word. "No."

But he is still a warrior—the Blue Spirit, sharp as steel—and though his thoughts are clouded with equal parts fear and anger, his instincts sing true.

_Follow._

He throws the scroll aside in favor of his swords and mask. But before he leaves, he grabs the scroll as an afterthought, so that he can quote it in Mai's emotionless, but secretly sheepish, and _very much alive_ face.

.

.

Mai thanks the spirits for what could charitably be called a forgettable face. Or maybe the captain really doesn't care for his soldiers. Either way, no one realizes she's not the owner of her stolen armor, at least long enough for her at least to stash it in a secluded corner and vanish into the depths of the imperial airship.

Her chance will come with the Comet. Until then, all she can do is wait.

.

.

Sozin's Comet breaks just over the horizon, somewhere beyond these steel walls, and even though he can't see it, Zuko shivers with certainty under his armor disguise. Mai's crisp words shine black on white in his memory.

_Forget the Avatar's destiny. Sozin's Comet is the element of surprise I need. I'm not sorry._

.

.

Mai spends a long time contemplating the Imperial Firebenders standing guard outside the Fire Lord's door. She sits motionless in the extensive ventilation system, vital to both sealed airships and assassins. Her clothes are heavy with water, for what might be a crucial moment of protection against comet-fed fire.

Finally she decides not to bother with them at all, and carefully inches through the ceiling until she's poised over the door. With a silent apology to her knife, she uses the flat edge to unscrew the panels concealing the locking mechanism, then wedges the ruined blade into the most important-looking gears she can find. It won't hold up to a determined assault, but all she needs is a few moments to escape. Mai can strike in seconds.

If it takes longer than that, she'll probably be dead.

She's about to creep into the ceiling of the royal chambers themselves when, to her surprise, the door mechanisms start to creak open. Metal grinds metal, teeth crushing her battered knife to shards, and the hatch swings open with a rattle.

_No. It's too soon for him to leave._

Mai glances through the air shaft and feels her heart stop. It's Zuko, wearing an arrogant mask as he's forced through the doorway by Imperial Firebenders. Steel cuffs lock his arms behind him, helpless.

At the far end of the room, the presence of Phoenix King Ozai turns to look on his son with pitiless gold eyes.

.

.

"I never dreamed you could be so foolish as to return at the height of my power," he drawls, in a voice like coiling smoke. "What brings you here, Zuko?"

"I can't let you destroy the Earth Kingdom," he says, stumbling forward, face shining with desperation. His tone quavers like a child's; even his submissive posture brings to mind the night of their Agni Kai. "Please, Father, reconsider—"

"_Let_ me?" Ozai says, amusement suddenly gone. "You dare impose upon the will of the Phoenix King?"

"No, Father, I didn't mean—"

"You should have stayed in whatever backwater you were hiding," Ozai says flatly. "I've heard enough of your pathetic mewling. Guard. Kill him."

Zuko takes a deep breath, as if savoring his last moment before the Imperial Firebender's blade curves up—

—and twists in a plume of breathed flame, making the man stumble backward. Meek facade dropped in an instant, and hardly handicapped by the wrists locked behind him, Zuko kicks in an arcing circle, sweeping the soldiers' feet from under them with a wave of comet-fire.

Ozai aims a blast of fire towards him, as precise as an arrow's strike, but Zuko takes two steps to the side and body-slams an Imperial Firebender into the path of the attack without flinching, even as the man's screams ring out.

Zuko takes them out quickly, before Ozai can consider killing all of them at once with a devastating area attack. He would rather swallow poison than admit that part of him wonders if his father is impressed, at last, by his ferocity and skill.

The sound of men falling covers the clang of a panel dislodging behind Ozai; the rush of searing hot air drowns the sound of cloth—Mai flits out of the wall, hands full of needles, and throws.

_Plink plink plink._

Half of her blades ricochet harmlessly off the Phoenix King's new armor. The other half sink into his arms, back, and legs.

Ozai roars in shock and pain, and turns with deadly speed. He doesn't need to aim; fire arcs out of his mouth like a brilliant ocean, waves of devouring flame exploding over the entire back of the room.

"_No!_" Zuko yells, the word torn brutally from his throat.

Mai's screams of agony reach a crescendo, then fall into terrifying silence.

.

.

"You were a fool to challenge me," Ozai says, outlined like a god before the consuming fire. "Did you think you could kill me? I am the Phoenix King."

"Mai," Zuko rasps, something cold and deadly solidifying in his stomach. The fire casts shadows over his white face as he stands amongst the incapacitated soldiers. He feels strangely light and unafraid. Blood rushes through his veins like lightning.

Zuko knows he can kill his father now.

"I'll deal with you myself," Ozai says, looking at his Imperial Firebenders with disgust. Bloody needles fall to the floor with light clinks as he steps forward. "I think I might even enjoy this."

"Me too," Mai says, half-charred beyond recognition, and drives her last needles into his neck.

.

.

"You idiot."

"Me? How could you?"

"I left you a letter."

"As if that was supposed to make me feel better about your suicide mission!"

"It wasn't a suicide mission."

"You almost died!"

"I didn't."

"Look at yourself!"

Mai doesn't get the chance, because whatever reserve of strength was keeping her standing suddenly peters out, and she collapses soundlessly to the ground. Zuko rushes forwards and falls to his knees. The skin is already peeling in sheets from her arms; her blistered face weeps blood and clear fluid.

Remembered agony radiates from the dead point over his left eye, and he curls over her body, world shrinking to the slow inhale and exhale of Mai's life.

At that precise moment, the outer wall explodes in a billow of scorching heat, metal glowing red-hot as the room opens to the sky.

.

.

"Stay behind," Azula says, flat tone brooking no argument, so Ty Lee and Katara do the only reasonable thing and ignore her.

Katara makes an ice bridge from Appa's back to the airship while Ty Lee and Azula simply jump, preternaturally comfortable in the air. As she runs, the ice melts and coalesces into a sinuous ring around her.

The room smells like acrid metal and burning flesh. Clouds of smoke obscure all vision, but Ty Lee turns paper-white and runs forward, yelling, "Katara! You gotta help her!"

"You don't know if it's safe," Azula says, and for moment Ty Lee looks furious, but she waves a hand and the wind moves around them like a living thing, the cloying smoke carried away, revealing the aftermath of a battle fought in fire.

The man on the floor twitches defensively over the body before him—no, he's a boy barely older than her, Katara realizes, wearing an expression of disbelief she knows too well, as Ty Lee's words pass almost unheeded over his head.

"Zuko, she can heal, she's safe, she's a friend—"

"_Leave,_" he snarls in a voice that doesn't sound human.

Katara stops short, uncertain. The water gloves around her hands waver. "Zuko, right," she says carefully. "My name is Katara. I can help."

He doesn't respond.

Katara takes his silence for acceptance. She reaches past his unresistant arms to hover over the girl's hand, and says, "She's going to be fine. This is water from the Spirit Oasis at the North Pole," pulling out Pakku's gift. The water leaps eagerly from the flask with a mind of its own, glowing moon-white.

_Don't waste it on Fire Nation scum!_ snaps a voice, only to be silenced by a different thought: _No. Fire Nation scum is exactly who I should be healing._

She holds the dying girl's fingers lightly, so that through the softly glowing water, he can see the way skin knits together and inflamed flesh returns to normal.

With a great effort, Zuko says, "Thank you," as if the words were dredged from the ocean floor.

.

.

Azula stands at a distance, taking in the still forms of the guards. There, crumpled in armor and silk, lies her father, pierced as cleanly with needles as one could ask.

She clenches and unclenches her hands, forcing down a scream.

_Where is my destiny?_

"Fight me, old man," she snarls at his corpse, kicking him onto his back, only to stumble backwards as Ozai lunges, hands closing around her neck before she can blink.

_No. I didn't sense—_

Azula's throat closes, something crunching in her trachea as her vision throbs black, but even then she realizes something's wrong. He can boil the blood to her brain in a moment, or sever her head from her shoulders with a thought—why is a firebender under the Comet trying to strangle her?

Water explodes between them, forcing her father to release her. There's not a wisp of steam as they stand, soaking wet, Azula clutching her throat and taking in lungfuls of air. She doesn't move.

"Your fire is gone," she says, disbelieving.

.

_._

_._

_._


	22. Embers

_._

_._

_(embers)_

_._

_._

Azula giggles unevenly.

"You're worse than dead, you're pathetic," she says, shaking her head. "How does it feel, Daddy?"

He snarls, lunges forward—and she can see now the slowness of his movements, some essential vital power vanished, like a war machine with its engines cut off. She doesn't even need Ty Lee to dart forward and punch the nerve clusters along his side, dropping him instantly.

"Coward! You could never face me at full strength," he says, even as he crumples to the floor. Azula rolls her eyes.

"Someone did," she says, glancing over the array of gleaming steel buried into Ozai's flesh. She's seen Ty Lee in action more than enough times to recognize the chakras and chi pathways, each skewered with an obsessive precision she's only ever seen in one other person. "Looks like you were beaten by a nonbender with more needles than sense."

"I resent that," croaks Mai.

.

.

"Don't move," the waterbender says, with a refreshing lack of prattle and fuss. Her pale blue eyes keep flicking anxiously to Azula.

Mai doesn't protest, mostly because even the thought of moving sends pain screaming through her ravaged nerves. She lets her eyes drift shut while her free hand finds Zuko's and twists, hairpin between two fingers. The cuffs open with an embarassed click.

His hands are still shaking as they tighten around hers.

.

.

Looking down on Ozai is a strange occurrence that sets her head spinning. He is weak ... weaker than her. She could reach out and touch him, and he would be powerless to stop her.

_(anything—anything at all)_

"You should know better," she says, almost to herself. Ozai tenses. They understand each other too well.

Azula doesn't play well with weaklings.

.

.

"Do you remember the days I would train for hours? You were never happy," Azula says, out of the blue. She stands easy, nonthreatening. "Almost perfect. Always that _almost_. Almost isn't good enough."

Ozai says nothing, only watches with wary eyes, like an animal before a predator.

_This is your natural place, filth,_ something in her snarls. Another part of her squirms in silent discomfort. She ignores it.

"_This is justice_," says Ursa, something hungry in her gaze. "_For us, my love. For our family. For the world._"

"Father, I'm perfect now," Azula says, feeling the warm weight of her mother's presence behind her. "Blink and you'll miss it."

Without a single outward sign, her chi splits.

.

.

_Seagulls whirl overhead, shadows dancing over the white sand of Ember Island like empty spaces in Agni's gaze. She knows instinctively that she can feel this and Zuko can't, so Father is proud._

_Princess Azula puts her small hand in her father's and looks up at him radiantly. Ozai offers that lilting smile meant only for her. _Father should smile more,_ she thinks, but the thought passes like the shadow of a gull's wing. She loves him._

_Azula glances back at the legless crab twitching where she'd left it, then up at her father for permission. His mouth quirks up slightly as she drops his hand to look for a rock._

_The surf roars behind them._

.

.

_"Azula! Stop!"_

.

.

Lightning lances through the air, a blue-white killing thought, a scorched path of ions and plasma leading straight to Ozai's heart—_perfect, at last._

A crackle of impact. The entire room is illuminated in stark, glowing blue.

.

.

Katara doesn't stifle the scream that tears from her as the hostile energy crashes through hers, water vaporizing on contact, the moment of resistance stretching into an eternity of actinic death raging around her.

No. She is the ocean, and the tide knows when to recede, stepping backward, dancing. Lightning suddenly passes through water clear as glass, like a demon filling its vessel, blue-white claws unsheathed and scraping madly at the translucent walls of its prison.

Katara stands under an arc of glittering, boiling water, carrying the lightning for a single living instant.

Then the momentum of that exhilarating power comes crashing down, the unstoppable rolling tsunami tearing out of her control just as she whirls and directs the lightning out into the atmosphere, destroying the neighboring airship with a deafening explosion of superheated steam and electricity.

_So that was the call of the Comet_, Katara thinks light-headedly, her hands trembling as if disbelieving the power they'd channeled. She remembers to breathe. The air is heavy with hissing, steaming mist.

"No," she says, her own voice sounding so tiny compared to the cry of the lightning. "Not like this."

The water vapor beading on the ceiling drips loudly into their silence.

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Something poisonous rises in Azula's throat, whispering rage and murder.

Peasant girl fool enough to defy the Avatar, the Spirit of the World in all her glory, how easy it would be to brush her aside, just a gossamer veil between her and justice, perhaps crush her bones against the far wall.

Zuko in a corner, pale with shock. _Kill him now, take the throne, you deserve it, take it take it **take it Fire Lord Azula**—then kill the witnesses, sink the airship, send it to the ocean floor and no one will know—_

A promise is only words, Ty Lee.

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"What do you think you're doing?" the Avatar answers, voice cold, but trembling with some hidden tension.

Katara stands in front of the Fire Lord and says, "What you couldn't do for me."

The specter of Yon Rha passes before them in a heartbeat.

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_Ursa crosses the sand and grips hard enough to bruise her daughter's wrist. The jagged rock falls from suddenly nerveless fingers._

"_Mom! You're hurting me!_"_ Azula says, twisting away._

_She doesn't wait for an explanation. With eyes like bronze blades, Ursa says quietly,_ "_You may be stronger or smarter than it, Azula, but _nothing_ gives you the right to torment a helpless creature. Now come back to the beach house. You're grounded._"

_When Ursa isn't watching, Father gives Azula a look that says,_ Your mother is a fool.

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Azula stands very still, then reaches one hand up to pry the warm fingers off of her shoulder.

Ursa's long black hair cascades around her, soft and sweet. In her ear, she whispers, "_My love, don't listen to her. You need me. You need this._"

"You are not my mother," Azula says, something breaking in her heart as she turns away from Ursa's sad, beautiful face.

The apparition vanishes in a shower of embers.

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Distant. Azula doesn't seem to register the water dripping into her hair.

"You're right; I'm not your mother," Katara says, mouth making a firm, determined line as the sound of her voice drags Azula back to solid ground. "I don't want to be. I just don't want you to destroy yourself."

Azula blinks, as if coming out of a trance. Suddenly she looks very tired, as though the weight of the world on her shoulders is only just now making its presence known.

"Get away from him," she says, and when Katara hesitates, Azula sighs, "I'm not going to kill him now. Don't ever leave your back open to someone—_something_ like him."

As Katara steps cautiously away, minding the word _now_, Ozai drawls, "I'm flattered that you think I'm still a threat to you like this."

"I did not give you leave to speak," Azula says, voice utterly empty of warmth. He falls into a poisonous, calculating silence.

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"What are you doing?" Zuko asks, low and outraged, glancing back at the unconscious form of their father in the back of Appa's saddle. "Leaving him alive is only asking for trouble."

Azula looks at the murder in his heart and searches for words. "Mercy is the mark of the great. Patricide will turn everyone against you," she says. She lets herself smirk. "Don't worry. You can murder the Fire Lady once we get back, if you're so keen to shed blood. Invent some charge of treason."

Into the silence, she adds, "I didn't think so." Some things never change.

They watch Sozin's Comet vanish into the vastness of space, and the terrible responsibility of power passes away from them.

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Armed guards begin appearing in unexpected places, brandishing authorization from the high council but otherwise refusing to explain their presence. They line the streets outside generals' and advisers' homes, and even dare blockade a section of the Palace itself.

"Our apologies, Fire Lady, but we have our orders. For your own safety, please remain in the west wing."

She stops short, looks at the soldiers for a long moment, then turns around without another word.

The Court begins to whisper.

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Azula stands, ready to strike terror and obedience from the gathering citizens—mostly civilians, but the tell-tale armor of the Royal Procession and Home Guard features ominously. She stops when Zuko grabs her sleeve.

"I can handle this," he says, and means it.

Reckless, well-meaning Zuko, who triggered an Agni Kai the first time he opened his mouth in a war meeting ... a different Zuko stands now, and jumps effortlessly to the ground. A spear flickers through the air, but the prince barely even looks before his swords flash in and out. The blade clatters uselessly to the ground before him.

Despite herself, Azula turns to Mai, who lies flat on her back, glowing water pooled over her ruined face. "Aren't you worried?"

Mai looks almost surprised by the question, then turns her gaze straight up to the darkening sky, not even bothering to observe Zuko's confrontation with the crowd. "If ... can't handle a few loyalists ... doesn't deserve the throne," she says simply.

Azula watches silently. She can't quite fight her surge of envy when the entire crowd slowly bows in obeisance to the Fire Prince.

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Zuko almost brings Mai to the royal infirmary, but at her uncompromising insistence, she walks home unaided. Not that anyone would believe her capable of fighting the Fire Lord, but there's no reason to trigger accusations of treason because the right people in the Palace noticed her burns.

"I'll do what I can," Katara says quietly, looking at the vast stretches of inflamed flesh, "but I can only do so much. You're going to scar."

"... not visible, that's fine," Mai says calmly. Ty Lee moans something about her perfect skin, but it's Zuko's quicksilver flash of grief that she turns to. "... don't regret."

"You really don't think Azula would have done it?" Zuko bursts out, furious.

Mai looks directly at him and swallows to soften her throat. "... not your sister. The Avatar. Fire Nation ... more than enough reasons to fear. Don't be ... in debt to her."

Zuko frowns, instincts catching something withheld. "You let him live," he says carefully.

"I thought," she begins, closing her eyes, "... ask him about your mother."

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Azula releases Appa's reins and turns to the only other figure on the sky bison's back. _One last battle._

"You can stop pretending to be unconscious now."

Ozai opens his eyes sullenly. Father and daughter regard one another across the windswept space as cresting waves pass below them.

"You won't recover," Azula finally says, dangling one of Mai's spent needles between two fingers. "Custom-designed, hollow gouging tips loaded with acid. There's no healer on earth that can restore your bending."

"Gloating?" he says, the single word dripping with a masterful level of scorn.

Azula shrugs, careful not to let his tone bother her. "You don't need fire to be dangerous. I think Mai and Ty Lee demonstrate that rather well. Perhaps you think you'll do even better now that we're underestimating you."

"And you think you can disabuse me of that notion," he says, amused. "You, threaten me?"

She takes a moment to observe him before saying, "The crown of the Fire Lord belongs to Zuko now."

A shadow of distaste crosses Ozai's face before he snaps, "What of it?"

"An attack on his territory is an attack on himself, to be neutralized without pity. Is this not what you taught us?" she asks, tilting her head with false innocence.

He glances ahead to the point of her words and sneers, "The Avatar is a _relic_, the superstitious imaginings of the past—"

"No. The Avatar is the Spirit of the World. I hold the divine right to rule all things." she says softly. Her instinct strikes with calm assurance. "This is the truth you feared ever since you were young."

Ozai turns chilling. "Don't talk about things you don't understand, my daughter."

The tone her child-self would have cringed to hear almost makes her apologize before she controls herself. "Something in me is your daughter," she says distantly, looking at the gauzy cloud ceiling above them. "But I have had thousands of fathers, thousands of lives."

"Yet you chose to spare my life in a fit of sentiment," he sneers. "Even with all the power in the world, you are still weak."

"Oh? Did you think this an act of _mercy?_" she asks, leaning forward to touch the wound at the base of his neck with deliberate suddenness, and he doesn't reply. She sinks into her memories of the mirror world, mimicking that unnerving tilt of the head.

This is the best kind of game: a lie she fully believes. She tries to embody the disconnect between Koh's faces and the shadow mind shaping their words. Azula cannot be his daughter now; her pale features and golden eyes must be a shell to hold something ancient and terrifying, a vengeful god to be obeyed.

Azula whispers, "You are mortal, but I? I have passed through _millennia_. I have been _worshipped_. This is the throne you sought to usurp, O Phoenix King, ruler of figments and delusions! The entire world is mine by birthright. The people upon it are an extension of _my_ will ... and you thought to claim them as your own."

She steps back, trying to gauge the effect of her words—_his_ words, reframed—through his pulse, then decides it doesn't matter.

"I sentence you in the name of myself, the Spirit of the World. You are an exile from power forever," she says coldly. "So live. Plot and connive as you wish ... but know that I have revoked your right to rule, and nothing will keep the throne in your hand."

Ozai starts to laugh, slow and mocking. Eyes gleaming with vicious mirth, he says, "_You_ are my legacy, my immortality. You cannot renounce me. My children are the two most powerful forces in the world, and you think I no longer reign?"

"We stopped being your children a long time ago," Azula says. She says it quietly, without defensiveness. In the same deliberate tone, she adds, "If your tongue utters another lie,_ I will cut it out_."

And then, because his faint derision has been needling her since the moment he opened his eyes, Azula jerks her fingers once—just to make him cry out as the water in his mouth suddenly turns to razor-sharp ice. Blood spurts from his mouth, dribbles down his chin, and seeps into his rich red robes.

Finally, the telltale hum of fear sings clear, brief and immediately silenced, as Ozai doubles over and spits blood from his lacerated mouth. The stain is dark, almost black. Azula only smiles.

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The streets of the Capital seem to stretch to accommodate the colors of four nations, gathered to observe the passing of one era and the rise of another. Civilians stare wide-eyed at strangely-dressed visitors who stare right back.

"Hey! Hey, you!" yells a Fire Navy recruit, running to catch up to the robed woman drifting through the crowd. The airbender turns guarded gray eyes upon her, something shifting defensively in her stance.

"Yes?"

She struggles for words. "They, uh, my captain said that the Northerners were gonna let us die. And that you people were the ones who arranged the rescue boats."

"All life is sacred," the nun replies, instead of confirming the rumor.

"I mean, if it was me I wouldn't go off looking through ice water for my enemies, 'cos they're just as like to kill _me_—Wait, that's not what I meant at all," the Fire Navy recruit says, biting her lip.

The woman's face warms with amusement, and she realizes the airbender isn't that old, really. It's just the weird hairline over the tattoo that gives her that alien grandmother look. Close up and smiling, the Air Nomad looks almost human.

"What I mean is ... thanks. For saving us," she says, extending one armored hand.

The nun's blue arrow fills her palm, cutting across the steel.

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Azula falls into step beside her brother, her cloak brushing the marble floor. The dark brown color suggests humility, distances her from the Fire Nation, and cuts off the family resemblance, all without declaring allegiance to any nation.

"After you," she says, with a playful smirk, as Zuko steps into the light and the gaze of thousands. The plaza roars with approval.

"Please. The real hero is the Avatar."

The sudden outpouring of adoration almost takes her by surprise as she walks forward. _They're only cheering because they think you defeated Ozai,_ she reminds herself, but when she sees Lin smile at her, standing tall even on crutches, her spirits leap anyway.

Zuko's voice is loud and confident as it breaks over the crowd, speaking the words that generations have longed for.

"Today, this war is finally over."

The wave of sound is deafening, filling the streets like a living thing. The entire city, the entire world seems to laugh and weep and dance together. The sharp borders between nations waver as strangers embrace one another.

Zuko doesn't let his address last much longer, in order to cast his coronation in the same breath as the moment of the peace declaration. He kneels before the presiding Fire Sage, and the cheering turns to reverent silence.

The deadly bolt of jealousy she's expecting doesn't come—only a subtle, crawling hunger she can push away with a thought. Azula even manages to smile as her brother stands, the twisted gold flame catching the sun.

"_All hail Fire Lord Zuko!_"

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"_All hail Avatar Azula,_" she whispers to the night, to taste the words. Lying on the Palace roof, she looks into the sky of her childhood, cradled by the jagged circle of the caldera. Every other sky in the world has the wrong stars.

She doesn't even feel surprised when a hand grips the ledge, followed by a pink sleeve and the girl it's attached to. Ty Lee waves as if interrupting her brooding is as natural as breathing, and to her, perhaps it is.

"Dreams are funny things," she says, without preamble. "Saving the world with you was a _lot_ better than staying with the circus."

"Saving the world," Azula repeats, rolling her eyes.

"It's true!" A little softer, she adds, "Everyone's proud of you, you know."

Azula doesn't want to think about the moment when everything stood so crystal clear in the mist, when all she needed to do was turn, engulfed in lightning, and say—

_(a promise is only words)_

Instead she says, "Almost isn't good enough."

"Maybe," Ty Lee says, giving an easygoing smile, "but since no one's good enough, it doesn't stop us from being proud of you. We're trying to be human. _Not good enough_ is not the same as _not good_."

Azula frowns and hugs her knees, not sure what to make of her words, and finally decides to put them away for the time being. "What are we going to do now?" she asks, the _we_ quietly inserted, an almost-question hanging too casually in the air.

"We'll figure it out later," Ty Lee says, sealing the almost-question away with gratifying nonchalance. "But if you're not busy, want a rematch?"

She's briefly puzzled before her memory offers the scent of aloe and the words: _I'm stronger than you, and I'll prove it._

"I could hurt you," she warns, standing up, but only half-reluctant. The other half of her is already stirring her chi to life, coiling, eager. The acrobat only laughs.

"I'd like to see you try. Don't hold back."

It's been many years since they raced over the walls of the Fire Academy for Girls. They fall into the old game with grateful familiarity, though this time the steps are fists and blossoms of fire. Azula finds herself smiling at the leaping flames, even when none of them so much as singe a single bouncing braid. Her arm goes numb and she whirls, only to see Ty Lee skip away with a wide grin.

"Told you not to hold back," she says.

The night enfolds her ringing laughter, and the dance continues, choreographed in silken white flame and shadows in starlight.

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_end_

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	23. Epilogue

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Thank you for reading, friend.  
It means the world that you came all this way with me.

After some deliberation, the Epilogue,

**_- Radiant -_**

has been uploaded as a separate story  
for reasons concerning flow.

s/9218515/1/Radiant

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End file.
